


Tumult

by Adria_Teksuni



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: BioWare, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-18 18:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 57,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3580146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adria_Teksuni/pseuds/Adria_Teksuni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris has recently sealed his freedom by killing his former master, the Magister Danarius. His freedom, however, is disturbed by recollections of the unfortunate reunion. What little revealed about his life has only led to confusion, and he has nearly convinced himself that who he was doesn't matter. </p><p>Now, events set in motion by the death of Danarius have swept into Kirkwall, led by a woman who seems to know more about Fenris' forgotten past. He and Varric, with help from their companions, must follow the path set before them, delving into who Fenris was before Danarius, and who he may have known.</p><p>This is a completed work. It contains big, huge, nasty Dragon Age 2 spoilers. With teeth. And guns.</p><p>I do not own any licensing for Dragon Age 2 or its characters, all rights belong to Bioware and EA, blah blah legalities blah blah blah.</p><p>UPDATE - Broken into chapters, too many words. I had intended for this to be a short story...um...oops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**  
**

#  Chapter 1

The sun shone brightly overhead in Lowtown, the first nice day after two weeks of miserable rains swept in off the sea. It was storm season, and a fortnight or more of torrential weather was common. The crowds were lively, animatedly talking, haggling, arguing.

"So, elf, I was surprised you agreed to join me today, I thought it would eat in to your scheduled afternoon brood," Varric said, looking up at the black leather clad elf stalking beside him. The markings on the elf's swarthy skin looked like tattoos; curving, spidery markings seen where his armor left his arms bare, up his neck, writhing up his cheeks. "Oh, don't glower at me. I've been glowered at by better elves than you."

"I'm sure you have," Fenris grunted. Amber eyes surveyed the busy streets of the Lowtown Bazaar. "To tell you the truth, I'm not sure why I agreed to accompany you today, either."

The dwarf next to him was also looking around, but while they were observing the same area, they saw two entirely different things.

"Ah, what perfect wandering weather," Varric said, stretching his arms wide before smoothing his blond topknot back on his head. "Eh, Bianca? So many things to see and people to meet," he added, giving the crossbow on his back a fond pat. No armor for him. Instead easy to move in highly tanned skins and rich fabrics in duns and tans, the occasional flash of gold jewelry and richly colored accoutrement breaking the monotone. Quiet, but fashionable.

"It's easy for others to hide in a crowd," the elf said sourly, adjusting the gauntlets he always wore, grim trophies of his past, like the markings. "Easy to steal a purse, or quietly slide a dagger between ribs."

"Not even you and your remarkable self-contained cloud of gloom are going to spoil this day for me," Varric said with a chuckle. "I've been cooped up inside the Hanged Man for a fortnight, and I intend to stretch my legs a good bit."

Fenris looked down his nose at the dwarf. "Such legs as they are."

"Now, now, elf. No need to get personal. I don't comment on your fashion."

"You…don't comment on my fashion."

"Well, I haven't yet today, and that should count for something. To the weaponsmith we go, unless your height precludes you from such base activities as seeing what new merchandise the good man may have in?"

"Hawke takes care of our gear," Fenris protested, but fell into step next to the dwarf. "I don't see why you bother."

Varric stopped for a moment, eyeing a table full of trinkets, some enchanted, some not. "I've known Hawke for over seven years now, and while she is utterly reliable, she is not my keeper. Besides, she doesn't know what's best for Bianca."

"I've known her just as long," Fenris said. "And I don't know if 'reliable' is the word I would use."

"What word would you use, then?"

"Convenient."

"You've known her almost as long as I have, give or take a month or two. For a while there, I thought something might come of you two," Varric said, stroking his chin and eyeing Fenris with a look full of suggestion.

"Not hardly," he spat. "She and the deluded abomination are too busy making moon eyes at each other."

"Do I detect a note of jealousy?"

"That implies I want to make her mine. That is not the case. Not with her. Her kind has proven it prefers the company of its own."

"That's harsh."

"But true. She's convenient, as I said."

"Ah, you're only saying that because she's a mage."

"I'm saying that despite her being a mage."

"She helped you with that tussle with Danarius, didn't she? Helped free you, helped hide you, helped you make the contacts and coin you needed to stay out of his evil clutches until you could permanently settle the debt? Even though she is a mage, and had the opportunity to gain a lot of power by turning you over."

"Hawke...is an exception. An apostate, pushed into some desperate situations, but she never resorted to the forbidden. The rest, whether they're sanctioned Circle mages or fugitive apostates, none are to be trusted. Ever."

"You're not in Tevinter anymore, elf. And you're not a slave anymore, either. Your master is dead. You'll really have to get over that hatred at some point if you're going to stay here in Kirkwall."

Varric passed the trinkets and moved up the street towards the tailor. "You're going the wrong way," Fenris pointed out. "And I don't have to 'get over' anything. I hire on with this lot because you all might be useful to me, and I don't have to guard my throat or my wallet around you."

"I know where the weaponsmith is. Nothing wrong with a wandering route now and then."

"But it serves no purpose."

"It lets me enjoy your scintillating and cheerful company a bit longer, isn't that purpose enough?"

"You are a strange dwarf."

"So you've said. On many occasions."

"And you never seem to mind."

"Why should I? It's true. It's what gives me my unique charm."

"Is that what they call it in Kirkwall?" Fenris drawled. "In Tevinter they called it unhinged."

"Yet another of the many differences between Tevinter and the Free Marches."

The banter of the two continued in much similar manner as Varric wandered the Bazaar, Fenris lagging along behind, constantly scanning for signs of danger.

"Will you relax, elf?" Varric finally demanded. "I keep telling you the best way to hide is in plain sight."

"And you don't think I stand out here," Fenris inquired pointedly. "Not even a little."

"Not more than them," Varric said, jerking a thumb towards a set of three buskers performing on lute, tambourine, and pipes. Their clothes were beyond garish, patches of what seemed like every type of cloth in existence, in every color of the rainbow and then some. They dripped with jewelry made of fool's gold, clattering coins, and chiming bells. The effect was not disharmonious, but it wasn't particularly pleasant, either.

Fenris drew up short. "I see your point. But it is not over with the Imperium. Danarius is dead, yes, but others will want his secrets." He stared bitterly at his slave manacled arms for a moment before shaking his head. "He was far from discrete, parading me in front of his rivals like a pet, making me perform. But, I suppose even I have to see the sunlight now and then."

"See, listen to me, and I'll make sure that no one finds you before you're ready. You're perfectly safe here. My friends tell me that no one of note from Tevinter or any of their hunters that might give you trouble are in town, they stayed away because of the weather."

"So that's why you asked me out today," Fenris mused. "You knew it would be safer than most days."

"Actually, I was hoping to catch a glimpse of those choreographed numbers you told us about."

"Will you never let me live that down?"

"Never. It's far too amusing imagining it. You flitting gracefully from room to room, pirouetting and plieing your way through that dusty old haunt. And here's the weaponsmith. Hardic, how are you, old friend?" he greeted the man in the booth heartily.

"Varric!" the man cried. "Just the dwarf I was hoping to see! I got those new Orzammar clockwork gears in you had been wanting to see."

"And I thought the day couldn't get any better," Varric enthused, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. Seemingly nonchalantly he asked, "Did my contacts help you find them any easier? My loftier cousins are not known for their generosity with what they consider to be exclusively dwarven hardware."

"Ah, they did indeed, my friend! But, a good number of palms still needed to be greased, you know," Hardic, a willowy man who obviously sold but did not make any of the wares he touted, said mournfully. "Ah, it is a wicked world indeed. Such greed. So many needing encouragement to do the right thing and help an honest businessman."

"But far fewer than if I had sent you with no letter of introduction."

The two fell to serious haggling, Varric insisted that he all but traveled to Orzammar himself to get the gears and the price should reflect that, Hardic countering with the trials and travails of essentially smuggling contraband out of the turbulent dwarven capital.

When Hardic mentioned the ogre that had to be beaten off during his associate's travel through the mountains, Fenris let his attention wander. 

There seemed to be something of a scuffle breaking out by the street performers, and while Fenris was tall for an elf he was short by human standards and couldn't see much. Only a general idea of shoving and pushing from the shouts and sounds of struggle. 

The turmoil spread, as one passerby was shoved into another by the fracas, to have both turn angrily on each other. An exponential chain reaction of misunderstanding and the pent up frustrations from the last two weeks of enforced isolation from the rains.

"Varric…" Fenris said warningly, keeping one eye on the growing disturbance.

"One second, elf. I'm busy dealing with the heartbreak of an old friend refusing to acknowledge my invaluable assistance."

"Varric, Guard Captain Aveline is going to be called here soon from the looks of things…"

"Oh, good, she can enjoy the weather, too. Now, Hardic, I know for a fact that your brother-in-law never went anywhere near Ostagar in the last six months…"

Chafing as the discord grew and began swirling disconcertingly near, he took a step back in surprise as a fight between what appeared to be a dockworker and a refugee broke out right in front of him. The two men were clutching at each other's clothes and swinging each other about rather than throwing any real punches. Mostly harmless, but it only added to the chaos threatening to envelope the entire Bazaar.

So intent was he on avoiding the two men he missed the cloaked and hooded figure stumbling backwards out of the crowd, directly into him. Despite the slender frame, the individual had been shoved with considerable force, slamming into him hard enough to knock them both to the ground. Fenris managed to grab hold and keep them both on their feet as the figure fetched up against him. 

"Apologies," stammered a lilting female voice. Ice slithered down his spine at the haunting familiarity. "The crowd. I did not mean to—" 

His hand shot out of its own accord, snatching the back of the hood and yanking it down. Wide, startled grey eyes stared at him from an elven face, a mass of curly red-gold hair tumbling round it. She would have been pretty, but for the misery and fright stamped into the features. The mane whipped across her chin and mouth, as if trying to keep her masked.

The hair could not hide the shattered exclamation or how she stiffened against him.

"Maker help me…" she whispered.

Faster than he could have anticipated, she spun away from him and tried to stagger into the throng, desperately drawing the hood back up. He was after her in a moment, recapturing her arm and hauling her to a stop.

"Odette. What are you doing here," he snarled. "How did you find me? Did your master send you?" His grip on her forearm tightened like a vise. She mewled in pain and skittered backwards, clawing at his grip with her free hand, refusing to look in his eyes, instead concentrating on his clasp. He noticed that she wore long dark linen gloves, and the sheen of sweat on her skin, the damp patches in her hair.

"No! No! I did not know you were here!"

"You lie," he seethed, jerking her face to within an inch of his own. She turned her face away. "Was it Corvinus that sent you? I will let you live so you can tell him if he wants me and Danarius' secrets, he can come for them himself, just like his former comrade did. And he will receive the same welcome!"

"I swear I did not know you were here! If I had known, I never would have—you are the last person I wanted to see! I swear by the Maker!"

"As if such things hold any meaning to a pleasure slave," he said, contempt oozing from every word. "Much less one who willingly sold herself into shackles. If you are here then so is he."

"He is not, I—I left Tevinter—"

"Tell him," he growled, crushing her slender forearm in his hardened grasp. Tendrils of blue flame began playing along the markings in his skin. He could feel the bones in her arm grate against each other. "Tell him that I am waiting for him. Just like I waited for Danarius. If he decides to take me, the same fate awaits him. Tell him that!"

"You're hurting me, Leto!" she cried. His markings were instantly doused. She froze and gasped, her eyes snapping to his, full of horror.

"What did you…" In his shock, his hold on her slackened, and she took the opportunity to wrench herself free and dart into the crowd, making sure her hood was secure as she ran. This time, he did not go after her. Her words were ringing in his head, closely echoed by the words of his sister. 

The words he'd not thought twice about, the words his sister Varania had spoken, telling him his true name. The name that no one who knew him after Danarius had taken him would know, but for family. The name that no slave should have known.

Leto.

He passed a hand across his forehead, trying to collect himself. Confusion swirled inside him. Of all people, why her, why here? It had to be a Magister trap, just like with his sister.

He stared down at his hand, remembering the feeling of the bones in her arm in his grip. Despite his slender build, he was ruthlessly strong, moreso than any elf should be. The legacy of his former master. He'd nearly snapped her arm, using hardly any of that strength. 

A glistening sheen on his hand caught his eye. He was no stranger to it. He'd seen it many, many times before, just like this. 

Blood.

Had he injured her more than he'd thought? Or had the crowd? The dark gloves she wore wouldn't have shown the stains. But this was fresh. It had to have been inflicted either when he grabbed her or shortly before, but the gloves themselves had been intact.

It didn't matter. She was here. That meant Tevinter was here.

Tevinter meant Magisters.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Fenris and Varric discuss the startling encounter in the Bazaar, and its ramifications.

  


 

#  Chapter 2

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Varric said, clapping Fenris on the back. Fenris responded by rounding on the dwarf, markings on his skin blazing to life in lightning blue. Varric adroitly evaded Fenris' grab for his throat, dancing backwards a few steps just to be safe.

The light streaking his skin abruptly died. Fenris stared at Varric, aghast.

"Varric…I…I am sorry…I did not mean…"

"Hm," the dwarf mused, studying the shaken elf. "I need a drink to wash the taste of a bad deal out of my mouth. That Hardic just refuses to see reason. Care to join me?"

Fenris just nodded, falling into step beside the dwarf. They both stayed quiet during the short walk to the Hanged Man, the tavern and inn favored by the less desirable elements of Kirkwall society. Naturally, it was where Varric lived.

The interior of the bar was made to seem even darker than usual due to the brightness of the day outside, the normal midday patrons (and all day patrons, for that matter) in their usual spots. Isabela, the ship captain without a ship and erstwhile Hawke Companion, happened to be there as well. Beautiful, olive skinned, and deadly, the Rivaini was not as…reliable as Hawke, but in the years she'd spend as part of the motley band, she'd more than proven herself. As more than just an amusing drinking companion with a never-ending supply of bawdy tales to spin over a pint.

She half stood, raising a hand to wave them over, but stopped short as her eye fell on Fenris. Her brows wrinkled as she took in the elf's subdued demeanor.

Varric met her questioning look with a slight shake of his head. She gave him a slight nod in response. Getting up, she moved to the bar and ordered a drink before returning to her table. As he and Fenris moved through the taproom to his own private quarters, Varric noticed that when Isabela sat back down, it was in a dark corner facing the door, dark eyes no longer quite so lively. Now they were watchful. 

Nothing was going to come in without her steely assessment. And if she assessed danger to herself or her associates, the duelist would step in to divert them. 

Varric led Fenris from the dirty taproom to the dirtier back halls that led to the sleeping quarters of the inn, then to the surprisingly clean and tastefully furnished private rooms Varric rented. It was more expensive than finding a permanent residence, but worth it to keep his finger on the pulse of Kirkwall. More information moved through the Hanged Man than through the Guard Captain's office concerning the doings of what went on in the city walls. 

He should know, the Guard Captain was a close, personal friend of his.

Sitting Fenris down at the large meeting table in the main chamber, Varric went to his private reserve of whisky you'd never find behind the bar in a dive like the Hanged Man and poured a healthy amount into a goblet.

"Here," he told the elf. "Drink this. It'll bring your wits back from wherever they've flown."

Fenris picked up the goblet and sniffed it. "The good stuff," he said dryly. "You must be worried."

"I haven't seen you snap like that in years, elf. Something spooked you but good. Drink it, then I'll ask my first question."

"Your first question?"

"Oh, I have plenty. We aren't going to run out of things to talk about, never you fear. Drink."

With a sigh, Fenris took a large bite of the whisky, rolling it around in his mouth before swallowing.

"Danarius was never one for liquor," he mused, toying with the goblet. "He was a connoisseur of fine wines, considered whisky beneath him." He looked over at the dwarf, who still stood next to his chair. "I only drink whisky with you. I just realized that."

"And that's only because I buy it for you, you vagrant. If I bought wine you'd drink that just as quickly," Varric replied. But he didn't move until Fenris took another large draught. Then he relaxed the tiniest amount, got his own drink and sat at the table across from Fenris.

"So. Your first question?" the elf asked, staring down into the goblet as if scrying the answers. 

"Should I send for Hawke?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"Because she, my friend, is the glue that holds this band of misfits together. The glue, and the impetus. She's the one we all turn to, for whatever reason, when we have an eruption catch us off guard."

"No," Fenris said acidly. "Don't call her."

"Why not?"

"Because she doesn't need to know about this. I don't even know what 'this' is."

"What happened back there?"

"I saw…" he paused, swirling the whisky in the goblet before taking another swig. Varric had to stifle a wince at the way the elf was chugging the very good, ergo very expensive whisky. "I saw someone I never thought to see again."

"I don't think I've ever seen you like this before, elf."

"Like how, exactly."

"Disconcerted. Before when the boogeymen, and women, of your past have popped up, you've flown into a rage. A very effective, and somewhat frightening, rage. I assume Tevinter?"

Fenris nodded.

"A spy?"

Fenris nodded.

"And here to find you."

Fenris nodded.

"Not a hunter of any note. My people would have told me if any were in town. Not a magister for the same reason. So someone…personal."

Fenris nodded.

"How personal?"

"I—I'm not sure."

"You're not sure?"

He slammed the goblet down on the table and clutched his head in his hands. "I can't remember! I get flashes, pieces of memory of my life before I awoke with Danarius telling me who and what I was. But nothing I can use! I knew her as a slave, we were both slaves, but she said—" The words stopped coming, and he broke off with another slug of whisky.

"So, this person claims they knew you before you volunteered to be Danarius' canvas?"

"No, she did not claim it. It seems it was unintentional."

"What did she say that's got you so worked up?"

"My name."

"Your name? But—oh. Oh, I see. The name your sister said was yours."

"Leto." He spat the name as if it were a vile epithet. "Part of me recognizes it as mine, and at the same time it feels like a stranger's name. It is _maddening!"_ Drawing his hand back, he hurled the goblet across the room. The pewter hit the wall with a clang, falling to the floor and rolling until it hit the newly flattened side. Fenris lurched up out of his chair and began stalking back and forth.

Varric made a small sound of sympathy for his tableware.

"I do not know who I was, and I have no interest in it! It doesn't matter any longer. I am who I am now. Fenris. Free elf. No longer the slave of the Imperium. I keep this name to prove that I am more than what Danarius made me; his 'little wolf'. Who I was shouldn't have any bearing on who I am now!"

"Then why are you so upset? Did this woman threaten you?"

"No. Not overtly. But her mere presence here is a threat."

"Why do you say that?"

"Her name is Odette. She is a pleasure slave of one of Danarius' cronies, Corvinus. Both he and Danarius were obsessed with unlocking the potential of lyrium as more than magical replenishment. Corvinus was the only Magister Danarius trusted with some of his research into _these_." The markings on his skin flared blue again, fading away slowly as he continued to pace. "It makes sense that Corvinus would be after me without Danarius standing in his way."

"A pleasure slave, you said? Why would he send a pleasure slave after you? You were made to be a killing machine."

"I don't know. To catch me off guard, perhaps? She and I were…not enemies. Before I was stranded with the Fog Warriors, she and I used to…keep company. I never thought anything of it. She was a reward Danarius often borrowed from Corvinus. If I performed well, I got her for the night. A sweet dessert to cover the taste of offal. Perhaps he thought I would not strike someone I had been intimate with."

"Perhaps he schooled her? Told her to let your name slip at an appropriately dramatic moment?"

"That must be it. It must be. But…I remember her. I think I remember her. But do I remember her from before or do I remember her from the time I know we spent together?"

"I know you don't like the idea, but maybe Blondie could…" Fenris leveled a look of pure blackness his way.Varric spread his hands apologetically. "Okay, okay, sorry I brought Anders up. But if you want to find out, a spirit healer is your best chance. Maybe Hawke could…"

"No. And don't even mention the blood mage."

"Daisy? I didn't even think of her, to be honest. So, you don't want to find out more about your past. What do you want to do?"

"I want to find Corvinus," Fenris said grimly, holding up a hand and slowly closing it into a fist. "And deal him the same fate I dealt Danarius."

"And this Odette?"

"Her, as well, if she gets in my way."

"And if she doesn't?"

"I won't go out of my way to kill her, if that's what you mean."

"Awfully charitable of you."

"Do not misunderstand me. It is not out of any pity I spare her. She's simply beneath notice unless she stands in my path."

"But she's a slave, like you were."

"Not like I was!" he snarled. "Never compare her to me! She sold herself to Corvinus for the life of luxury a pleasure slave would have, being owned by a powerful Magister. She ran to him. I was born as a slave. She was born poor, on the streets, but free. Using her beauty and her wiles she secured herself a position, exchanging everything I desired to be a pampered pet, used by any man who had Corvinus' favor. Not like me. Never like me."

"How do you know that?" Varric asked quietly.

"What?" Fenris snapped.

"I presume that how she came to be a slave for Corvinus wasn't pillow talk while she was being your 'reward'. And from what I understand, slaves in Tevinter are forbidden from speaking about their lives before they were owned by their current master. On pain of torture and death. So, how do you know her story?"

"I…I must have heard it somewhere…"

"Really? Slaves gossip about that sort of thing where the walls can literally have ears and the masters are brutal blood mages always looking for a fresh supply of subjects?"

"No, of course not…but…" 

"And another question: so she willingly went to Corvinus. According to your sister, you did much the same. She said you competed to be Danarius'…subject."

The elf nearly turned green, the thought obviously making him physically nauseous. "So Varania said, but I have no memory of desiring it, or knowing what he would do to me. I must believe that if I had known, I never would have wanted it." The tinge left his skin and he visibly rallied. "And she also said that I did it in order to gain freedom for my family; my mother and my sister. Odette had no such noble purpose." These last words came out full of bile. His sister had informed him that his good intentions had all but led her to betray him. Freedom forced her into poverty and acceptance of Danarius' offer of her brother in exchange for being his apprentice.

"You're so certain about that? And it still doesn't answer why you know the details of Odette becoming a slave in the first place."

Fenris threw his arms up. "This is ridiculous. Why does it matter I know? Or how I learned it? All that matters is she is a harbinger or a trap. Or both. If Corvinus is not here already—"

"I told you, he's not."

"Then he will be soon. She was his personal bodyservant. His favorite toy. He won't let her out of his sight for long."

"But why her?"

"I told you."

"No, you told me what she is. I still have no idea why they would send someone who doesn't know their way around Kirkwall, doesn't know how to fight, isn't a mage, isn't even a high level lackey of any sort. She sounds like a terrible agent."

"She's weak. She's vulnerable. They're hoping to catch me off guard."

"After you nearly killed your own sister and were only pulled off by the last minute intervention of Hawke, I doubt that anyone with a brain in their head would think to play on your sympathies as a snare."

Fenris stared at Varric, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What are you driving at?"

"Just trying to make sense of it all," Varric replied soothingly. "This threw you, don't deny it. I'm just trying to keep anymore little surprises from popping out at you. You said you were intimate, that she was a reward. Is that all she was?"

"I never felt any love for her, if that's what you mean," Fenris sneered. "You know I'm not capable of anything like that."

"But?"

"But…I…did request her. Once in a great while Danarius would allow me to choose my own reward for a particularly well done task. I would…choose her."

"She was special."

"She was a beautiful woman. I am a man. It is not so very surprising."

"No, but it could be a reason. Maybe they think she's the right angle to play, although," Varric shook his head. "I know your sister hasn't exactly been discrete about her, sorry to say, disappointment of a brother. Every freeborn in Tevinter knows what you did that day when Danarius showed up. Something just feels off."

"Nothing is off," Fenris said firmly. "She is the bait for a trap, or sent as part of the preparations for Corvinus' arrival. I need to know, Varric."

"All right, I'll keep my ear to the ground and let you know if I discover anything. After Danarius managed to sneak into the Hanged Man itself without me knowing, I consider it a point of pride not to let it happen again. If a Tevinter Magister even thinks about heading for Kirkwall, I'll know about it."

"Good."

"And if Corvinus shows up?"

"You mean when."

Varric sighed. "Very well. When Corvinus shows up?"

"Then we call for Hawke."

"Why is that?"

"Because," Fenris said, lips twisting in a self-mocking grin. "It seems she's the only one who can stop me when I start killing Tevinters."

  


 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Varric arranges for Fenris to learn more about what the woman from his past could mean to him, and Kirkwall.

  


 

#  Chapter 3

"And so you come to me."

"And so I did. How about some of that wine you keep sharing with Hawke and Isabela but not me?" Varric knew Fenris broke out the good stuff with Isabela. But he shared the exquisitely rare and expensive with Hawke.

"You won my last twelve decent bottles during Wicked Grace last week. You know that."

"Then I guess it's good that I thought ahead and brought one along, just in case."

Varric grinned and pulled an ornately labeled, green glass wine bottle out of a bag slung around his shoulder, setting it on a table before the elf. The Hightown mansion Fenris lived in looked exactly the same as the day Fenris had removed the previous tenants, hunters working for Danarius. 

There were still moldering bones in some of the rooms.

The only decoration in the formerly resplendent room were weapons and bits of armor Fenris had picked up during his stay in Kirkwall. Trophies, most of them, taken from the bodies of his enemies. 

There were an inordinate number of staves among them.

"So, have you found out anything?" Fenris asked, taking two wineglasses off the mantle of the fireplace and bringing them over while Varric worked out the cork.

"Hawke says you never bother with glasses."

"Hm. Hawke says quite a bit. But that's only when I have certain female company."

"You said you didn't feel that way about Hawke, you scoundrel," Varric teased, pouring the rich ruby liquid into the glasses. The aroma was heady, filling the musty room as only a fine vintage could. Not the quality Fenris shared with their common companion, but still fine enough.

"I never said I never felt that way about Hawke," Fenris said quietly, reaching for his glass without really seeing it. "Only that I do not feel that way now."

"What happened?" The curiosity was overwhelming, and he was petty enough to fully admit to taking advantage of a friend when they were vulnerable and in the mood to talk. He got some of his best stories that way.

"Hawke is beautiful, intelligent, witty…everything any man could ever want. But she is also a mage, and a righter of perceived wrongs. Including what she sees as wrongs to mages."

"You seem willing enough to overlook her vocation. You could have lived with it, I think."

"She chose someone else. Anders." he finally said, rolling the wine glass between his palms. The very name made his lips draw back in a near snarl. "Another mage. As I said, like calls to like."

"You could have fought for her."

Fenris gave a bitter bark of a laugh. "I don't know how. But this all happened years ago, before the Qunari Invasion. The abomination now lives with her, and were it anyone but him I would wish her joy. If he hurts her, however…his probation will be terminated, and I will treat him the same as any other abomination."

"You won't be the only one," Varric muttered.

"But she did show me that perhaps while I may have known how to love once, I no longer do. It was a valuable lesson, and I am grateful."

"It's good you're seeing the silver lining."

That earned him one of Fenris' patented twisted smiles. "It never could have worked between us, you know. An amnesiac former slave with an obsessive hatred for mages and a Fereldan refugee apostate orphan catapulted to fame and riches as the Champion of Kirkwall? It sounds like one of your and Isabela's collaborations. I will have to say that she does seem to like men whose true names she does not know."

Anders' name was apparently a nickname he'd picked up during his time as a Circle Mage, before he'd been conscripted as a Grey Warden. It was short for Anderfels, where it seemed he was from. Varric had never really thought about it before.

"You don't know that. You could have had the romance of the ages. After the Grey Wardens from Fereldan, anyway. The second romance of the ages, then."

"I do know that. We are too different, our ideals too at odds. She wants to save everyone, even the mages. And I don't care if they all burn. But enough. Hawke will have my strength for as long as she needs it. It will have to do, for us both."

"Interesting…" Varric thought better of further teasing the elf, who seemed to be in a rare pensive mood. Instead he contented himself with looking smug and taking a sip. He _knew_ he'd felt heat between the two of them. 

Perhaps she would have been better off with the broody elf over Anders, after all. Fenris had said it would never have worked, but Varric wasn't so sure. Once his trust was earned, nothing short of outright, personal betrayal of all he held dear would turn Fenris against you, and the dwarf had strong suspicions that the same loyalty was found in the elf's love life. Between him and Hawke, they were stubborn enough to work through anything.

Nothing against Blondie but…ever since the Qunari invasion the tormented mage hadn't seemed quite right. Something was off, but try as he might Varric couldn't ever find anything solid other than his usual involvement with the mage underground. And there he was known to only to hide, heal, and help mages escape from Templar brutality. Varric had tried to warn Hawke but, she was…reliable. And steadfast. To a fault.

"Did you find anything?" Fenris asked again.

"Now you know I wouldn't interrupt your brooding unless I had something. Tomorrow, you are going to come to the Hanged Man."

"Am I."

"Yes. And you're going to hide in my side room while I meet with someone who says they need my assistance with something."

"I'm going to hide," Fenris' tone and expression full well said what he thought of that idea.

"Yes. You're going to hide or I'm not going to let you in."

"You're going to try and stop me?" Fenris asked wryly.

"Oh, not just me. I happen to be acquaintances with the Champion of Kirkwall, you know."

"You play dirty, dwarf," Fenris grumbled. "You know I don't want her to know about any of this, and you're using it against me."

"Guilty," Varric replied cheerfully. "I'll use any tools to hand while creating my masterpiece, you know that."

"Is that what you call what you do? Art?"

"Of course! The finesse, the flair, the cultured eye. All are necessary for my work."

"So why," Fenris continued after a long suffering sigh. "Will I be hiding in your side room at the Hanged Man while you meet with this person?"

"Because I think they'll have something interesting to say about certain current events."

"Very well. I'll play your little game. But know this. Hawke or no Hawke, I'll not remain hidden should I not see the need."

"Of course!"

 

"I still don't see why I am doing this," Fenris complained, but he walked complacently into the little side chamber thatVarric used occasionally when certain of his guests didn't necessarily need to see each other. Like a lieutenant of the Coterie and the Captain of the Guard. Or Captain Cullen of the Templars and a certain elven blood mage.

The reasons were as varied as Varric's guests.

"So we go from brooding to sulking. It's variety, at any rate. You behave or the deal's off."

"Why do I need to hear this? Why can't you just inform me of what takes place?"

"Some things are better heard in person. I can't believe I am saying this, but some events lose something in the retelling. Now, in you go. Make yourself comfortable. They'll be here any moment."

The small room was furnished in line with the rest of Varric's rooms. A nice, but small, Rivaini carpet on the floor, dwarven carved settee with Orlesian cushions. A decent example of Fereldan woodwork in the side table, which had a variety of beverages arrayed on it. 

What made the room special was the false wall. Rather than the sturdy, if splintering, oak beams used in the rest of the Hanged Man's construction, the wall facing the meeting room was actually cleverly painted and textured canvas. It looked perfectly solid, from both sides, but there was no solid wood getting in the way of perfectly good eavesdropping. 

And if the need arose, there was a shutter that folded down on the interior of the false wall from the ceiling, in case privacy truly was called for. That bit Varric had done himself. Dwarves were famous for their handiwork, after all.

Actually, the shutter looked absolutely awful when it was extended, but it did the job and no one could see it from the main room, which was all that mattered.

For now the shutter was safely folded up in its nook in the ceiling, and Fenris was unceremoniously plomping himself down on the settee with crossed arms and a crosser expression.

"Be a good boy, and there will be a treat at the end of it for you," Varric told him. "Daddy promises."

Fenris' reply was not something said in polite company.

Varric shut the door to the side room with a laugh and seated himself at the head of his meeting table, a large dwarvish affair that'd had to have been cut into pieces and reassembled to get it into the room. It was one of the only things from the Tethras estate of any worth that his brother Bartrand had let him have. Varric suspected it was because the style of table had been out of fashion for decades and its worth, while not insignificant, had decreased nonetheless. Bartrand wouldn't have been able to bear any of his associates seeing him with such an unfashionable item.

Still it was impressive, in its own way, and more than practical for his needs. There were times when he needed a large table for an equally large set of people to meet at. And there were times when it was reassuring to have the nearly eight foot long slab of oak in between him and someone else, with Bianca in her special cradle underneath, ready to go.

Besides, him sitting at the head chair (which was more imposing than the others), with the fireplace behind him, often gave him the theatrical flair he sometimes needed for his work. The fire was nearly always lit, and today was no exception. The rainy season made the Hanged Man interminably damp, and the fire was the only thing that kept everything from mildew.

Today, though, he wasn't expecting any trouble of that sort, unless he'd completely lost his ability to read situations. He hoped not. That would mean retirement, and he wasn't ready for that yet. The world was still too interesting to not be a part of it.

Soon enough, a slight, hooded and cloaked figure stood in his doorway. Small, even to Varric. Tinier than even Merrill, the elven blood mage he knew. If it were not for the well-developed figure he could discern beneath the bulky robes, he would have thought she was a child.

"Are you Messere Tethras?" a musical, female voice asked. There was a surprised thump from the side room, and she started like a skittish deer.

He stood up and moved around the table, hands spread wide, smile equally so. Mentally he said unkind things about white-haired, yellow-eyed elves.

"Cats, my dear. This tavern is absolutely infested with them," he said reassuringly. "Don't let the tabbies frighten you. Yes. I'm Varric. And you are?"

"In need of your help. I was told…"

"Of course. Please, have a seat." He gently took her by the elbow and steered her to the nearest chair. "Can I get you something to drink? I have everything you could possibly want."

"Anything is fine." It was almost a question, asking him if it was all right. The accent was definitely Tevinter, although the deep cowl she wore hid her features.

"I think you could probably use a nice glass of wine, I won't be but a moment."

He passed towards his credenza, giving the actual wall of the side room a surreptitious kick. 

Quickly he returned to the table, placing a goblet of chilled sweet wine in front of her, a mug of ale for himself. 

"Thank you. I'm afraid I can't stay long."

"I understand. What can I help you with?"

"I need to get out of Kirkwall. Immediately."

"And I take it you can't just charter passage, or you wouldn't be here."

The hood nodded miserably.

"Any particular reason?"

"Can you shut the door?"

"Of course." He stood and shut the double doors to the hallway, which usually stood open all hours of the day and night. An odd security measure, but it had always seemed to work. Locks were to keep honest people out, anyway. 

She didn't know the Hanged Man if she thought she needed the door shut to protect her secrets. In the Hanged Man, no one saw anything, no one heard anything, except Varric.

The fact that she sat with her back to the door confirmed his belief that she was no agent. Skilled practitioners of the art of espionage could never fully hide the wariness, and she displayed nothing but general fear of her surroundings as a whole. The fear was obviously near to overwhelming, but there was none of the experience or training someone in the business of information or assassination would have. The thought of someone sneaking up behind her never occurred to her.

"There you are."

Raising gloved hands, she lowered the hood. A heart-shaped face, with wide upturned grey eyes flecked with blue, like a thick fog with bits of sky showing through. Curls of ruddy gold cascaded loose. He couldn't tell how long her hair actually was, but he judged it to be: very. The hair was held back by elegantly pointed ears.

Despite the warmth of the day, she wore a muffler beneath the cloak, and it bundled her up nearly to the hollows of her cheeks.

She should have been lovely, even by elven standards, but she wore her fear and her despair too openly. 

This was the face that inspired such confusion in Fenris. He'd been expecting a face that would start wars. Odette was lovely, to be sure, and there was a sensual quality about her even he could feel, but he'd been expecting the kind of beauty that would set men to howling. There were more exquisite specimen at the Blooming Rose.

Still, Varric offered a brief prayer to the Paragons, the Maker, Andraste, and anyone else who might be listening that the fool elf wouldn't take it in his head to appear like the harbinger of doom.

"So you're an elf. That might make things a little more expensive, but not to the point where you would need me to broker passage for you."

"No, it's more than that. The Templars…"

"Ah. I see what you mean."

Since the Qunari Invasion, the Templars, led by Knight-Commander Meredith, had been scrutinizing every passenger list and inspecting every hold as if it held the divine secrets to Andraste's underpants. No mage would be fleeing the city by ship while they were watching. 

Well, not without specialized assistance.

"Are you a mage?"

"I have…magical propensities…"

"Untrained then." Well, that explained where some of Fenris' distress regarding this poor creature comes from anyway,he thought to himself. 

Hesitantly she nodded. He understood. Kirkwall was no place for any mage of any sort, unless you happened to be Champion, and even she had her problems. It was getting draconic.

"I think I can help you, but I do need some questions answered."

Those huge, luminous eyes glanced up at him, then back down at the table. 

"Questions?"

"In order to help create an identity for you, of course. It's best if I come up with one as close to you as possible. It'll be easier to keep up that way."

"Oh, of course…"

"I warn you, the first one is tough."

A frightened twitch.

"Your name," he said gently.

"What?"

"I need your name, Rosie."

"Rosie?"

"Your hair. It's like an Orlesian rose, red and gold. Forgive me, it's an eccentricity of mine. I give all beautiful women I know nicknames. It's one of my enchanting peculiarities." Not just beautiful women. He gave nearly everyone he knew a nickname. But she didn't necessarily need to know that.

"Oh. I see." Was it his imagination, or did the ghost of a whisper of an innocently pleased smile at the simple compliment grace her lips for the briefest of moments? "Rosie," she repeated softly, as if trying it on for size.

If she was used to wielding her beauty like a weapon to get her way, Varric was seeing none of it. Not even the honeyed wide-eyed innocence that some of the practitioners at the Blooming Rose had mastered. Of course, he wasn't infallible, and had a long list of failures behind him the Maker had provided, in order to keep him humble.

"But I can't put Rosie on your documentation, now can I?"

"No. Apologies. I am not usually so…" she waved her hands helplessly. "This."

"I understand. You're in a strange place, with strange people. Actually, you're sitting at the table with one of the strangest, but also one of the handsomest and most charming."

It was definitely not his imagination this time.

"Odette. My name is Odette." She reached out and took a sip of the wine, eyebrows raising in appreciation.

"Odette then. I'll come up with something similar to it, so when you hear it you'll respond to it. Is that all right?"

"Yes."

"How long have you been in Kirkwall?"

"Barely a month."

"How did you get here?"

"By ship."

"I see." The rains from a few weeks ago had been the tail end of the seasonal storms that plagued Kirkwall. Only the staunchest of sea captains dared to journey to Kirkwall during that time, and none were passenger ships. "And why Kirkwall?"

"I had heard there were Dalish encamped outside the city. I am looking for them."

A neat, ready answer, neatly and readily given.

"There were until a few months ago. Their Keeper passed away and they had to move on."

"I had heard. But I have been told they are easier to find in Fereldan."

"You do know that Fereldan is actually worse off than Kirkwall, despite Qunari, Templars, and mages, right? They had a Blight, an assassination by darkspawn, two coups, a Circle incursion, an outbreak of intelligent darkspawn, and the decimation of nearly the entire southern territory. It's been years, and Queen Anora is doing all she can, but it's still in a sorry state."

"I know. But I must go."

"Why Fereldan?"

"It is the closest place I know of with Dalish."

"You could stay here, use Kirkwall as a base. There are plenty of Dalish in the Free Marches."

"No! No…I cannot stay here."

"Then perhaps Starkhaven. I know someone pretty high up in the monarchy there."

"No. Starkhaven and Tantervale are too close to—Kirkwall. Nowhere in the Free Marches. It must be Fereldan."

"Have the Templars gotten wind of you?"

"I do not believe so." She took another fortifying sip of wine. Varric just sat quietly, with a reliable and trustworthy expression on his face. He'd learned it from Hawke.

"You can tell me, Rosie."

"I am trusting you with a vast deal, messere."

"Varric."

"Varric." That will o'wisp of a smile again. A deep breath. Another sip of wine. "There is a man."

"Isn't there always?"

"I…he was the last person in Thedas I ever thought to see again. I, quite literally, ran into him the other day and it was…not pleasant. If I had known he was in Kirkwall I never would have come here, no matter if—"

"If?" Varric said when she abruptly halted. 

"No matter if there were Dalish nearby or not," she finished lamely.

"He—this man—has every reason to hate me. I'd rather he didn't but I haven't…had much say in the matter. I cannot be here if he is."

"Are you afraid of him? Has he threatened you?"

"No. Yes. I mean, that is to say, no, I am not afraid of him. Yes, he threatened me."

"He threatened you, but you're not afraid?"

Someone received a death threat from Fenris and wasn't afraid of him? Varric began to fear this woman might not be right in the head.

"No, I am not. I know I should be, but it is not his threats that make me want to leave."

"No?"

"It is…my shame." She took another timid sip of wine, but from her candid admission it seemed that the bit of trust she'd decided to place in Varric went a long way. What he could see of her face was contorted in grief, but it didn't stop her from speaking. That wasn't the entire story, and she was still clinging to the Dalish angle. Varric would winnow those out later. "He sees me as a certain…thing. And he is not wrong."

"You said he has every right to hate you."

Her head bowed, as if suddenly weighted with grief. "I betrayed him."

Despite his ingrained cynicism, her blunt confession moved him. "I see."

"I'm not sure what any of this has to do with forged papers, messere—Varric."

"Every bit helps. Crafting an identity, properly done, is a painstaking process designed to ease the passage for all involved. The more I know about you, the more materials I have in the making."

"I see…"

"So, if I may push while I'm still ahead. How did you betray him?"

"We were…close once. Then he discovered what I was. Everything he hated. I had turned my back on everything he believed in, fought for. And I had done it deliberately, to try and get what I wanted."

"Do you regret it?"

She gave a shaky laugh. "That is a difficult question."

"This man, does he have a name?"

Now she blanched, huddling back into her cloak. A physical withdrawal. She was so petite she was nearly swallowed in the voluminous folds of cloth.

"Yes," she finally whispered. It was obvious a debate was being waged inside of her. Then, tremulously, "Fenris. His name is Fenris."

"I know of him. Elf. Weird tattoos. Terrible fashion sense. A surly, recalcitrant fellow without sense to come in out of the rain. Or so I've heard."

"As you say, messere."

"Then why didn't you call me that," Fenris' voice stabbed at her as he strode out of the side room. "Why did you call me 'Leto'?"

She squeaked like a mouse caught in the stare of a serpent, freezing in place, eyes snapping to her lap.

"Fenris," Varric sighed, resting his head in his hand. "Of all the stupid, pigheaded…"

"No, Varric," he barked. "I've heard enough. She's done nothing but lie since the beginning of this farce. I don't even know why you continue to entertain her."

"This was a mistake. I did not know you knew him. I would not have come if I had known. I am sorry to have inconvenienced you, messere!" she babbled, scrambling out of the chair. Fenris was on her before she made it halfway to the door, encumbered by her robes as she was. 

This time he grabbed a fistful of cloth and slung her around. Her back slammed into the double doors with a crunch, and she made a choking noise as her breath was knocked out of her.

"No! Not this time. I want to know why you're here. You ran from me in the Bazaar, you won't get away so easily this time. How do you know that name? Where is Corvinus?"

"I—I don't know exactly!" Her tiny hands grabbed his wrist, trying to squirm away. It did her no good. Her feet dangled several inches off the floor, and her strength was as effective as the beat of a butterflies wings against Fenris' power as he held her pressed against the door with one fist.

She would not look into his face.

"No more lies!" he shouted, markings once again erupting into silvery blue. A physical manifestation of his wrath, and proof of his horrific ability to use it. This time she gave a little scream of pain, and shut her eyes tightly. "Tell me! Where!"

"Fenris!"

"No, Varric! I will not be stayed in this! Where is he?" He raised one glowing hand, aimed it at her chest, over her heart.

"I—I—"

"Fenris, don't make me stop you!"

"Tell me!" he bellowed.

" _At the bottom of the sea, Maker take him!_ " she suddenly cried out. 

"What was that?" Fenris asked, dumbfounded, the markings snuffed like a blown candle.

"What was that?" Varric's head cocked to one side, and Bianca, snatched instantly to hand, had her nose drooped to the floor.

Her eyes opened, half-lidded, not really seeing, and she sagged in Fenris' grip. A terrible, despairing exhaustion seemed to take her over, and she began to speak.

"We were on a ship, I did not know where it was bound. I thought Fereldan. News had reached Tevinter about Danarius, what you had done. It took him time, but Corvinus wanted to make absolutely sure he would be able to capture you unharmed. When he felt ready, he actually bought his own ship, captain and crew, and set out. I, and the rest of his household were on board. He wanted you, Fenris. He wanted the secrets of your _opus artis_."

Every word she spoke rang with sincerity, and Varric had a pretty good handle on what she sounded like when she lied. Again, though, he could sense it wasn't fear of Fenris that was pushing her to veracity. Not of him hurting her, anyway. Despite his terrible ability, and his evident willingness to use it, she hadn't feared death at his hand.

And while she was speaking quickly, it wasn't babbling. She wasn't raving the truth out of hysteria to save her skin. It was something else, something Varric didn't know, but she seemed unable to lie to the former slave. Only Varric's long years of experience let him see any of this. It was all so subtle that someone not as trained or immersed in observing for a living would have noticed it.

He spoke none of these thoughts aloud, instead observing, "The storms. The ship sank."

"Where have I heard that before?" Fenris muttered.

"No Qunari chasing them this time, though," Varric rejoined, adding to the reference to how Isabela had ended up in Kirkwall so many years ago.

"Qunari?" She looked confused, but never raised her gaze. "No…it was the storms. We were driven onto a reef. One of the seamen freed me, guided me to the deck. He tied me to a barrel and the next thing I knew, I was in the water. I floated for…I don't know how long. I washed up on shore. I was found by some…people who helped me."

Not an outright lie, but a definite prevarication. Varric filed that away.

"They told me Kirkwall was closest, and where the city was, gave me food, some coin, and these robes. I thought you were in Fereldan. Corvinus never told me where you were, where Danarius died. I was a slave. If I had known you were here, I would have gone to Ostwick. To Tantervale. To Starkhaven if I'd had to. Anywhere but here."

" _Opus artis_?" Varric asked.

"It means 'work of art' in Old Tevinter," Fenris said acidly. "So my markings finally have a name, do they?"

"Corvinus called them that," she said quietly, staring down at the floor.

"Sit," Fenris commanded. Her feet hit the floor with a thud, and he jerked her towards the chair. She staggered and sank down into it. "So Corvinus is dead."

"I want him to be dead," she breathed. "I do so want him to be dead."

"What? Your beloved master? Why would you wish such a thing on the man who gave you everything you ever wanted?" Fenris scoffed.

"As you say, messere," she said timidly.

"Fenris, that's enough. Now you're just being a bully."

"You're saying she doesn't deserve it?"

"Yes," Varric said, meeting Fenris' eye with a steady gaze. "I'm saying exactly that."

They stared at each other for a moment. Fenris broke the gaze first and leaned over the table, shoving his face close to hers. His eyes raked over her features, but her eyes refused to meet his.

"That name," he said. "How did you know that name?"

"I cannot tell you that," she whispered helplessly.

"You cannot, or you will not?"

"What are you going to do with me?"

"Perhaps I should kill you," he sneered. "You have been nothing but a thorn."

"No one is killing anyone, unless it's me killing this fool elf," Varric said. 

"Don't presume—"

"She's my client, Fenris. That means she's under my protection, not to be dramatic about it. Who am I kidding? I love being dramatic. But that means you don't get to touch her out of any misguided sense of vengeance. Rosie hasn't done anything to you except hurt your feelings." He considered for a moment. "That you know of, anyway."

"You're being deceived."

"Most likely. The question is, how important do I think her lies are compared to you making a new hole in her chest?"

"Stay here with your pity, then. I have no burden to witness it."

"Oh, very well. I know I interrupted your busy, busy schedule with this today. I'm sorry, Rosie. I thought he might be able to learn something that would help him get on an even keel by listening in today. I should have known better."

She just shook her head.

"I'll help you leave Kirkwall. Least I can do. And the least you can do, elf, is join me in the hall for a moment."

"What?"

Varric opened the door and made a sweeping gesture. Fenris snorted and stalked out. Varric followed, quietly shutting the door behind him.

"And?"

"You, my tetchity friend, are going to walk her back with me to wherever she is staying."

"And why would I do something like that."

"I can think of any number of reasons, but the main one is this: she said Corvinus, his entire household, and whoever or whatever he had to help him capture you were on that ship. What are the odds that she was the only survivor?"

"And she said Kirkwall was the closest." Fenris stroked his chin, considering. "They'll come looking for me. Or her." He glanced at Bianca, still in Varric's arms. "Would you have really shot me for her?"

"Luckily, we didn't have to find out." Varric said, then insisted, "Wouldn't it be better if anyone looking found you together? If they just take the girl, that leaves you empty handed, doesn't it?"

Fenris gave Varric and odd look. "I'm not doing this for her. Or any questions I might still have for her. They're all about my past, and inconsequential to me."

"Believe me I know. You're doing it for you. But you're doing it, aren't you?"

"For a chance at Danarius' closest ally? Tolerating her presence is a small price to pay."

"You don't give Anders this much of a headache, and he violates your ideals more than she ever did, from what I understand. She's not a mage, and while she may have been part of a Magister's house she isn't now. She should have your sympathy, not your antipathy."

"That is none of your business."

"It is my business. I need to know if trouble happens, protecting her will take priority over your vengeance."

"I told you I would not go out of my way to kill her."

"Sorry, but I didn't see any of that ambivalence in that little display you put on in there."

"I wouldn't have struck. It was meant as intimidation. And it worked."

"I don't think it worked the way you think it did."

"Speak sense."

"Nothing, nothing. So, you're in this with me? You'll help me protect her?"

"I won't let her come to harm," Fenris said mockingly, that twisted smile on his face. "I give you my word."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Varric and Fenris perform bodyguard duty to Darktown, and Isabela agrees to help them. For a price.

  


 

#  Chapter 4

"So what was all that about the Dalish?" Varric finally asked. They were moving through Lowtown. Odette's hood was firmly back in place and she moved quickly. Varric was nearly trotting to keep up with her, and Fenris skulked along behind them, his usual awareness reaching out around them.

As soon as Fenris and Varric had returned to the room, Varric had noticed a distinct change in Odette's demeanor. Gone was her willingness to answer questions. Instead, she insisted that she had to go. Such was her hurry, she didn't even argue when Varric proposed the escort to where she was living. They'd been gone seconds after his conversation with Fenris had ended.

And her haste had not ended with leaving the Hanged Man. Nearly trotting, she moved as quickly as she could without actually breaking into a run. It didn't seem to be any rush to get away from them, either, but an actual desire to return to wherever it was she wanted to go. She barely seemed to notice their presence at all, so intent was she.

The cowl flicked back in his direction. "The Dalish?"

"You're not really looking for them, are you."

"No. I never was. However, during my time in Kirkwall, I went to the Alienage. Many there expressed a desire to find the Dalish. It seemed it would be a convenient excuse."

"Smart," Varric muttered. If Fenris hadn't been involved, he might have bought it.

"You admire her capacity to lie?" Fenris demanded.

"It's a skill, like any other," Varric replied with a shrug. "The ability to lie, and lie convincingly, charmingly, and entertainingly is a skill prized by storytellers the world over."

"She did none of those things," Fenris growled.

"A bit of practice, and she should be all right at it."

Fenris just grunted.

"Besides, I've known you to fracture the truth more than a time or two yourself."

"That was different."

"How?"

"I only lie to those who do not deserve honesty."

"As much as I spend time with you, elf, I don't think I'll ever understand your particular code of honor."

"Where are we going?" Fenris called to Odette. "This is not the way to the Alienage." 

They had turned down an alley which led to a staircase which, in turn, led to a series of tunnels and lifts to Darktown. The Alienage, the ghetto slum where the city elves generally stayed, was in another direction entirely. Darktown was another level of Kirkwall, the city beneath the city for the forgotten, those who wanted to be forgotten, and those who wanted to forget. It had its name for both literal and figurative reasons.

"Because I am not staying in the Alienage. I have no feel for it, nor the tree."

"The Vehnadahl?" Varric inquired. "And all this time I had thought all elves felt the call of the Tree of the People. All the Alienages have them."

"I have never felt such a call," Fenris snorted.

"Probably smart," Varric mused as they made their way from one lift to the next, noting how she fretted during the slow rides the machines afforded. There was a real and definitive border to Darktown, where the sunlight ended and the shadows began. "The first place they'd look for you is at the Alienage. They'll have a harder time of it in Darktown."

That got her attention. All the while she'd been speaking in a distracted manner, even in her responses to Fenris. Now he felt her focus on him. "What do you mean? Who would be looking for me?"

"Any number of people, Rosie." He tried to speak nonchalantly. It didn't seem like she could take much more. "Slavers, anyone who might have survived the shipwreck, anyone from Tevinter who got knew Corvinus and got word about you, Templars..The list goes on."

She let out a little sigh, the cowl shook back and forth. "I should have known it would not be easy."

"You think it's been easy?" he exclaimed, incredulous. "A shipwreck, losing everything you've ever known, surviving in Darktown? Dealing with stubborn, irascible elves? You consider that easy?"

"She's been free, and so far unmolested," Fenris said. "After being slave to a Magister, that is easy."

She stumbled a bit, but quickly caught herself. Varric could feel the surprise radiating off of her at Fenris' words.

They stepped off the final lift into Darktown proper, an herbalist's stall set up directly across from him. The stench once they hit bottom was staggering; off of unwashed bodies, from rotten food, and from what swept in from the enclosed bay the open side of Darktown looked over. The waters there were used as the latrines for Darktown and some of Lowtown, and Knight-Commander Meredith, current de facto ruler of Kirkwall, was no more interested in dealing with it than her predecessor, the Viscount, had been.

For some reason, even though he was a dwarf, the close confines of Darktown always made a spot between Varric's shoulder blades itch. It was oppressive, the darkness that could never be dispelled no matter the amount of torches and lamps, all encompassing. It sank into flesh and spirit like a miasma of despair.

They forged a little further in when she abruptly stopped. 

"Thank you, but my quarters are not much farther. I will be fine from here."

"Are you sure? We're more than willing to accompany you the whole way, Rosie."

"I am quite sure. Apologies, I do not mean to be rude, but, I must leave you now."

"But—"

"Let her go, dwarf. It is obvious she no longer desires our company."

The hood almost, but not quite, fully turned Fenris' way.

She dropped a brief, Tevinter court curtsey, and darted off into the murk.

"Well that was uneventful," Varric remarked as they turned back to retrace their steps to Lowtown.

"You would rather it weren't?"

"Of course not. Well. Maybe. I guess I expected something a little less anticlimactic."

"You are truly a storyteller at heart, dwarf."

"Aw, you say the sweetest things."

"It was not a compliment."

Eventually they made their way back to the Hanged Man. Varric had expected Fenris to return to his manor in Hightown, but was pleasantly surprised when the elf decided to join him inside.

This time when they went inside the tavern, Varric waved for Isabela to join them.

"And what is my favorite warrior elf and the handsomest dwarf I know up to?" she chirped, swaying across the floor as they paused on their way to Varric's quarters. She always had that peculiar rolling gait all true seafarers had, despite the fact that she'd spent the last several years almost exclusively on land.

"Getting into trouble," Fenris grinned at her. Varric couldn't quite figure out the elf's fondness for the woman, although Varric liked her. But then, Varric could come to like just about anyone so long as they weren't related to him.

She'd betrayed them all at one point, and nearly doomed the entire city of Kirkwall to slaughter and slavery at the hands of the Qunari. A relic she had stolen had turned out to be one of their most consequential religious texts, and they'd actually occupied a small corner of the city for years while searching for it.

By the time it had been found, the Qunari had grown tired of waiting, and tired of Kirkwall's, in their eyes, decadence and lack of proper discipline. They'd launched an invasion. Hundreds had died. Hawke had managed to recover the relic, but had returned it to Isabela rather than turning it, and her, over to the Qunari. If Isabela hadn't given the relic to the person she had stolen it for, she was as good as dead. Hawke had chosen personal loyalty over a possibly easier resolution for the city and had waded into the Qunari hordes, companions at her side, to deal with them the hard way.

Hawke's attempts to appease the Arishok, the leader of the Qunari, without the relic had met with little success. The massive creature, who had already slain the Viscount, was ready to make good on his threat to take the city and convert or kill every inhabitant, including Hawke. 

Isabela had then returned, to trade the relic for the city and Hawke's life. A sudden attack of conscience had forced her return, setting aside the impending threat of her employer for another day.

The Arishok had been pleased with the return of the relic, but had demanded the thief along with it. Needless to say, Hawke had refused. Battle had been waged, Hawke killed the Arishok, and Kirkwall was saved. Which was also how Hawke had become the Champion of Kirkwall. The city had been so grateful they'd erected a statue in her honor in the Docks, where the Qunari compound had been.

They had not, however, been so grateful that they wanted the statue to be a Fereldan refugee apostate, so it was a massive, plate-mailed monstrosity, one boot firmly planted on the Arishok's severed head, mighty sword of flame lifted to the sky.

More than one of Hawke's companions got the giggles every time they saw the thing.

So, with his beliefs, Fenris should have detested the buxom pirate. She'd betrayed her comrades, him among them, and nearly destroyed an entire city just to save her own skin. The elf wasn't big into the whole forgiveness thing, and so the fact that did more than tolerate the woman was a source of continuous wonder for Varric.

Of course, he had stated he was a man, with a man's desires, and Isabela was very, very good at catering to those desires. They did flirt, which was sometimes amusing, sometimes uncomfortable to watch from the elf. Not so from Isabela, she would flirt with a dead stick. Perhaps not even the staunch and stalwart elf was not immune to her very obvious charms.

Or maybe he just had a weakness for off-color jokes and graphic stories.

"Oh, you know how much I love trouble," Isabela said, answering Fenris' grin with dimples of her own. "Can I play?"

"Did anyone interesting come in while we were gone?"

"Now that you mention it," she said as they entered Varric's rooms. "A couple of men did stop by looking for a little blond elf woman. I assume it was your visitor, although I never got a good look." 

Varric moved to return Bianca to her resting place, while Isabela headed straight for Varric's supply of good liquor, and Fenris went around the table to take a seat.

As he sat, facing the now open doors, he froze halfway lowered.

"Did they say anything about her being injured?" he asked abruptly.

"No," Isabela said, pouring herself a generous helping of Varric's best whisky. "Nothing like that. Her family was looking for her, they said. Worried about her. But if two brutes like that would be working for a concerned elven family, you can burn me at the stake and call me Andraste."

"Why injured?" Varric asked, turning. Fenris had gotten back to his feet and was hovering over the chair Odette had been sitting in, staring at it intently. "What is it."

"Take a look. I'd forgotten."

"Forgotten what, elf?" Varric demanded, exasperated. He was also standing next to the chair and looked down at it. "Oh. That can't be good." His gaze swept around. "The cup she was using, too."

"What's all the mystery, boys?" Isabela asked, joining them. "Oh," she said, echoing Varric. "You'll want to get that cleaned up before it stains, Varric."

Blood covered the chair Odette had been sitting in, and a palm print was on the goblet as well. 

"With those black robes she wears, no wonder we didn't see it," Varric observed.

"I should have smelled that much, at least," Fenris said, pulling one of the doors too and peering at the back. "None here. She wasn't bleeding when she hit it."

"When she hit it?" Isabela exclaimed. "What have you been doing in here? And why wasn't I invited?"

"She didn't move like she was wounded, either," Varric mused, getting a rag and a pitcher of water. Splashing the chair, he began wiping it down. 

"She did move like she was in pain, though, just not a specific pain," Fenris added.

"And you still manhandled her like that?" Varric asked. "What chivalrous behavior."

"Now you're telling me I missed out on manhandling?" Isabela demanded. "I was sitting right outside! All you had to do was stick your head out and shout!"

"What was it you had forgotten?" Varric asked, ignoring Isabela for the time being.

"When I first encountered her, in Lowtown, there was blood on my hand after I'd grabbed her."

"Maybe you injured her then?" 

"No, Isabela, all I did was grab and hold her." His hand moved, miming the action. "Nothing that would have drawn blood."

"One more mystery for our mystery lady, then," Varric said, straightening and tossing the rag onto the table before reaching for the cup.

Fenris reached out and picked up the bloody rag.

"And what are you going to do with that?" Isabela asked.

Without a word, he hurled it into the fireplace. The fire hissed, steam leaking out, but eventually the cloth was set to smoldering. "We all know that someone getting their hands on her blood may not be a good thing."

"Why the sudden concern, elf?" Varric asked. "And besides, I needed that for the goblet."

"Get another, and burn it as well," Fenris instructed. "And it's not concern. It's prudence. She is under your protection, isn't that what you said?"

"Somewhat pointedly, yes. Although if she is spontaneously bleeding all over Kirkwall I don't think burning those will help her much."

"All right," Isabela announced, settling down in a chair and putting her feet on the table. "No one is going anywhere until someone tells me what is flaming well going on."

Varric and Fenris exchanged glances, then sighed.

"You tell her, dwarf. I'm already nauseous from it all."

"Very well, Rivaini. Let me get a drink of my own and we'll fill you in."

"I can hardly wait."

With absolutely no input from Fenris beyond the occasional disgusted grunt, Varric told Isabella the story. He left out Fenris' confession of past feelings towards Hawke. And Odette's use of the name 'Leto'. And a few other things that Varric thought perhaps shouldn't be common knowledge among the companions. 

He did that now and then. He was the group's confidant, while Hawke was the big problem solver. Together they had managed to take an ungainly bunch of untrusting misfits, rebels, and rogues and turned them into a very efficient, somewhat frightening, fighting machine. Despite some extreme ideological differences, they were deadlier than any mercenary unit, and at this point it would take a very large, well trained fighting force to raise Varric's concerns.

Of course, with the imminent storm ready to break between the mages and the Templars in Kirkwall, his concerns could be going through the roof at any moment.

After the story was all out, with a sad lack of improvement on Varric's part in the interests of brevity, Isabela sat for a few minutes consulting her whisky.

"So those fine fellows from earlier are related to all this somehow. And, I did catch wind of a salvage operation of a Tevinter galleon to the east. Supposed to be rich pickings. I had actually considered it."

"When did you hear about it?"

"About a week or so before the rains stopped. The wreck apparently hit the shore pretty hard, a lot of it on land."

"Do they know when the wreck happened?"

"No. Just that it happened during the storm season."

"Did you hear anything about other survivors?" Fenris asked.

"There was evidence of survivors leaving the wreck, but these types of salvage guys don't look very hard for the rightful owners. They followed the trails out to a few miles then turned back. They were just making sure no one would show up to interfere."

"Survivors? Trails?" Fenris asked, leaning forward, eyes intent. "Plural? Are you sure?"

"Yes. They definitely mentioned more than one, leaving in different directions from the ship. The hold was apparently the least damaged, and that's where the non-house slaves would be. It would make sense that they would scatter."

Fenris' expression was an odd set of bleak eagerness.

"Hang on, elf. They could be right. It might be just slaves."

"And it might not. He was a Magister. If he'd had any warning at all of imminent danger, there were plenty on board he could have used for blood magic to save himself."

"That's assuming it's even the wreck this Odette mentioned," Isabela said. "She could have heard about it and used it."

Varric opened his mouth to speak when Fenris spoke first. "No, she wasn't lying. Not about the wreck. That was true."

Varric stared hard enough that it made the elf pause and slowly turn towards him.

"What."

"Now you think she's telling the truth?"

"Don't you?"

"I know she is, but you?"

"You aren't the only one with the capacity to know when someone is lying, Varric."

"I just figured you'd disbelieve her on principle."

That just made Fenris sigh and shake his head.

"So, how can I help?" Isabela asked.

"Help? This is none of your concern." Fenris said.

"You're right. It's not. But I've been cooped up here too, and I am about to eviscerate a certain man who keeps writing odes about his love for me using the worst metaphors I have ever heard."

"Oh no, is he still around?" Varric asked, wrinkling his nose.

"Around and more inspired than ever." 

"Metaphors?" Fenris inquired faintly.

She clasped her hands under her chin and raised her eyes to the ceiling. "My love for you is like the high tide, throwing the effluvia of my heart on the slate of your soul. Take, take the overwhelming aroma of my adoration for you through your nostrils of divinity. Won't you sniff up my love, sniff up my rancid, stinking love?"

"And I thought the worm one was bad," Varric said. Fenris just looked a bit stunned.

"So you can see why I would adore any opportunity to get out and about."

"Can you follow up on the wreck?" Varric asked. "Any information about survivors, or you find anyone that knows anything about who was on board, would be useful."

"All the while on the lookout for Magisters behind every rock and tree, foaming at the mouth? Okay, I'm your girl." She bounced to her feet. "As for your little elven chit, you may want to get her to a healer." She glanced at Fenris. "And not that I'm going to name any names, but of course we do happen to know of one who works on the sly. At very reasonable rates!"

"Isabela," Fenris growled.

"What? All I'm saying is we have a healer as a common acquaintance. He's kind of cute. He likes cats." In a stage whisper to Varric, she added, "I know where his clinic is, if you need help finding it."

Fenris looked like a stormhead while Varric smothered a grin.

"I'll keep that in mind, Rivaini. And thanks for the help."

"I didn't say I'd do it for free, Varric."

"What?" the dwarf asked, startled at her sudden sharp tone. They did favors for each other all the time, as it inevitably came about that the favor would one day be returned.

"Rivaini. You have Daisy, Sunshine, Blondie. You even call Fenris 'Broody' every now and then. I'm just a nationality. I want a cute nickname!" She pointed a finger at the dwarf. "That's my price, not open for negotiation. Take it or leave it."

"Oh. I'll come up with a grand one, then."

"Good." She relaxed her pose. "I'll get on it, then. See what I can sniff out."

"And be as quick as you can," Fenris added. "We aren't sure what kind of time we're working with."

"Got it!" She winked cheerfully, gave them a salute, and sauntered out.

"Hopefully she'll deliver something more useful than Corvinus' choice in undergarments," Fenris said archly.

"I don't know if I can do this."

"Do what, dwarf."

"Nicknames just happen. There's a rhythm to these things! A natural order. I don't think I can force it."

"There is something very wrong with you."

Varric flapped his hand in dismissal. "Come back later, 'Broody'. Or I'll send for you when I learn anything new. I have work to do."

Shaking his head, Fenris left the dwarf to his creative effort.  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Fenris and Varric learn shocking truths about their new acquaintance, more shocking than they could have ever thought possible.

#  Chapter 5

"I said I would send word. You don't trust me now?"

"Varric. What are you doing here."

Varric hopped off of the stack of crates he'd been sitting on, landing in front of Fenris. "Probably the same thing you are; looking for a rose in the bracken."

Fenris grumbled.

"And so early, too. It's hours before dawn," Varric continued. "Could you possibly be worried about her?"

"Not in the sense you mean," Fenris said. "I am still concerned about what her presence here entails. Nothing wrong with that."

"Nothing at all," Varric agreed.

"So, any luck?"

"Not a shred of it," Varric sighed. "Considering the dearth of mages on the run, looking for a particular heavily robed and cowled figure in Darktown is like looking for a needle in a needlestack."

"I have had the same trouble. Instead of standing out, she blends in now more than ever."

"Keep looking, or pack it in?"

"I'm going to keep looking. You may do as you like."

"It's the bleeding," Varric said after falling into step beside the elf. "It's got me both worried and wondering, a condition I don't suffer from often. It's just so odd. Enough so I'm tromping around Darktown, which I hate, during prime business hours. I don't like it."

"Nor do I."

Varric gave him a look, but Fenris was in high alert, peering into the thick shadows, eyes nearly aglow with his level of readiness. He was in full hunter mode, and Varric could sense he was itching for a fight.

"I take it you heard about the new faces in Darktown."

"I have."

"Another reason to be down here, then. I asked around, and it sounds like the ones that came to the Hanged Man to ask about Rosie. You know Aveline would eventually ask Hawke to look into it. We're just doing them a favor before they know about it."

Aveline often asked Hawke to root out problems before they became official guard issues. Hawke was very efficient at it. 

Fenris just grunted.

"I heard about them through Anders. Who did you hear it from?"

"I have my own sources, Varric. I don't need to rely entirely on you for information."

"You might want me to check your sources out, to make sure they're on the level. Bad information can make a troubled situation catastrophic before you know it. Of course, I would be more than willing to give them the once over. For a friend."

Fenris didn't respond, instead laying a hand on Varric's shoulder and pulling him to a stop. He jerked his head to indicate forward and to the left, which was an area down the stairs, popular with smugglers and slavers. It made them easy to find when Aveline sent Hawke and company on another extermination mission. And they never seemed to learn.

Varric nodded, and Fenris melted into the blackness.

The dwarf crept forward, until he could hear voices.

"So, did you find her yet?" The accent was Fereldan commoner, all oi's and no h's. Refugees. Not as lucky, or as smart, as Hawke. "The duke's getting impatient."

"Naw, we ain't found her yet. And it don't look like we're going to, neither. Not with all these magic types running amok. Why they all got to dress the same, anyways?"

"How should I know? Do I look like a sodding finger twiddler? All I know is they want her. And they're paying a pretty bronze to get her."

"What do you want us to do? Start grabbing every robe we see?"

"We just got to figure out what she wants, see? Once we know that, we can get her to come to us."

"She's a slave with no master. She's probably scared and alone, don't know how to take care of herself, right?"

"Sounds good to me. So she'll be looking for someone friendly-like. Someone who can let her work for her own keep."

"The Blooming Rose?" 

"Naw, you gormless muck snipe. That's way too high class. There are plenty of places where she can peddle her flesh right here in Darktown."

The patter of rapid footsteps neared Varric and he froze, trusting to his skills to keep him safely hidden from anything but a good hard look. Sure enough, a man went tearing past, not even slowing down.

"I saw her, I saw her!" the man trumpeted between gulps of air. 

"Right then lads. Off we go. Keep close. Don't know who else is looking for her, and the duke wants her alive and unharmed."

"He say anything about…unmolested?" one asked hopefully.

There was a general chorus of guffaws and the clink of armor being settled, weapons put in place.

"No, as a matter of fact, he didn't." The reply was given with a decided leer.

"More motivation, eh, lads? Let's go."

Varric remained in place as seven men filed up the stairs, including the one that had run past him. Once they'd disappeared down a corner, he slid out after them, sticking to the plentiful shadows. 

One of the few good things about Darktown. It was very easy to hide. Probably the only good thing about the derelict area.

He couldn't see any trace of Fenris, but knew the elf was there, somewhere. He wasn't as stealthy as Varric, but he was a dab hand at it, and here he wouldn't have a problem. Except maybe with that shock of white hair.

It was a simple matter to follow the men. They talked loudly, walked without care, and generally paid no mind to anyone taking an interest in them. Briefly Varric wondered if it was a trap, that they were supposed to be followed, but dismissed it as paranoid. The elf was rubbing off on him.

They walked for about twenty minutes, the one leading them moving with confidence. So, they were new, but they had taken the time to familiarize themselves with Darktown. Darktown was a sprawl, like a warren dug by deranged rabbits. Between the walkways built for a city that no longer existed, and the new paths forged by those desperate enough to make this their home, it was more than confusing. It was an absolute labyrinth. 

That meant they were professionals of some sort or another. Probably from another of the cities in the Free Marches choked with refugees fleeing the chaos of Fereldan. If they were operating here this openly, that also meant they had gotten permission from Kirkwall's Coterie, the true power of Darktown, and most of Lowtown. If it was illegal, they either ran it or had a piece of it. And the only thing the Coterie wouldn't tolerate was competition.

The Coterie hadn't been faring so well since Guard Captain Aveline had ascended to the position. They'd had more deals with her predecessors than stinks in the Gallows, and Aveline brooked no corruption. Varric had more than once foiled assassination attempts on his friend, none of which she nor Hawke knew about.

They wouldn't have approved of his methods. Or his babysitting. But he did much the same for Fenris, Anders, and Merrill. Running interference for his companions had become something of an amusing pastime. 

"Just up ahead," the ruffian in the lead was saying. They'd ended up in one of the lower areas of Darktown. The Cellar. Above the sewers, but not by much. Not even the ne'er-do-wells would do business in this area. The only ones desperate enough to stay were the ones with absolutely nowhere else to go. 

Right now, that meant mages, refugees, and hopefully one tiny elven Tevinter slave.

The Cellar had at one point been a drainage causeway before the Gallows became the premiere spot for shipping. Kirkwall, in the early days of the Tevinter Imperium, could actually raise and lower the water level of the bay through cleverly built causeways like these. With the Gallows, however, and the sealing off of the bay, the causeways fell out of use. Now they were abandoned by all but the dregs.

The Cellar was a broad surface, cluttered by ramshackle shelters built by anything not nailed down. The shelters were for privacy, and warmth in the winter, as there was no weather down here. As the men and their ghostly escorts proceeded, they could hear the coughing, sniffing, and muttering from those huddled inside the clusters of huts. The area was always damp, and as a result, illness was a constant companion. Most plagues began in the Cellar.

Unfortunately, it was not so good for hiding. Most of the shacks had their own torch or leaky lantern, making the place well-lit at all hours of day and night. Varric had to hang back, barely in Bianca's range, in order to remain unseen. 

A quick look around and he saw Fenris faced with the same conundrum. The elf met his eyes for a moment, then with a grimace had to settle for crouching behind one of the huts, out of sight of the men but no one else. If anything happened, a lot of damage would be done before either of them could react.

He saw Fenris haul the huge two-handed hammer off his back and grip it. Thinking it a wise idea, he pulled out Bianca. The damp would do no good for her, but he hadn't been the one to choose the area. He couldn't load a bolt, as the process was noisy, but she was as ready as he could make her in silence. The acoustics of the Cellar magnified sound, so while they would have been able to hear Varric, Varric was also able to clearly hear them.

"Which one?" the apparent leader asked, drawing his short sword.

"The one with the bit of blue on the front." The guide pointed to one of the shelters, the roof an unreadable signboard, with blue paint. Varric had to risk sticking his head out to take a peek. Any shot he could take he would have to stand.

"So how you want to do this? These people going to interfere?" another man asked.

"Naw, these poor bastards don't want nothing to do with what don't concern them," the leader said. "We can just scoot in, grab her, and scoot back out."

"Then the fun begins," another one laughed salaciously, others joining in. "I like small women."

"Me, I've got a thing for elves, meself."

"Hope she won't scream too much. Always puts me out of the mood a bit."

"Speak for yourself. I like them lively!"

As immersed as Varric generally was in the slime of Kirkwall, there were some things that never failed to raise even his temper. He felt the slow simmer begin. None of these men were likely to make it out alive, Odette or no Odette.

A glance over at the elf told him Fenris was definitely in a killing mood. Varric had to remind himself that at least one had to survive. They needed to know about this duke, among other things.

"Now, now lads. No need to get ahead of yourselves. Take it slow like. You know the drill. Not our first snatch."

"What do you want?"

It was Odette. She had crawled out from the hole in her hovel and was getting to her feet in front of the men. The robed figure stood straight before them, unafraid, but wary. Varric wasn't sure whether to admire her, or despair of her.

"Here you are, darling," the leader said with a coarse smile. "We lot are here to gather you up for a dear friend. He's heard about your plight and wants to lend assistance. Don't that sound lovely? Now come on, let's be going."

"I do not know you. Who sent you?"

"Aw, don't be like that, miss. Your benefactor and ours wishes to remain anonymous. He can't help them all down here, and don't want them showing up on his doorstep. You understand."

Varric watched as three men began wandering around, leisurely moving into position to cover all avenues of escape.

"I think you need to leave," Odette told them, voice firm. "I do not know you, and I do not know anyone who would help me in this manner. Go now. I apologize for any inconvenience."

With that she turned to crouch and slither back into her hovel.

"Now, now, none of that," the leader spat, closing the difference between them and grabbing her by the arm. "I tried to be nice, didn't I? But you, you had to be like that. Now I don't got to be nice no more, now do I. You're coming with us, and you're coming with us now." 

As he spoke, he turned, dragging her along with him. 

Varric stood, raising Bianca, trying to get a clear shot.

"You do not want to do this," she said in a very small voice. "Please. You really do not."

"Appealing to my better nature, darling?" the leader said with a nasty chuckle. "Too bad for you I ain't got one."

"Get them robes off her!" one of the men shouted, agreement followed.

"That sounds like a right fine idea. No need to wait. Anywhere will do for this," the leader said, reaching out with his free hand.

Odette just stood very still. "You do not want to do this," she repeated. This time a note of sad determination colored the words.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fenris begin sliding forward, darting from shelter to shelter. 

The leader had been wrong. The people of the Cellar could and would fight if they saw you as one of their own. They hadn't stirred yet, but most of them were probably asleep, too drunk, or too sick. But once the able-bodied became aware, it could become a bloodbath. 

And Fenris in battle was neither quiet nor subtle.

"And who are you to tell us what we want and don't want, love? Off with these."

He gave the neck of the robes a sharp tug, and they slithered to the ground. The leader involuntarily took a step away from her.

Several things happened at this point.

"You _dare!_ Get away from her!"

Blue-white light exploded from Fenris, the lyrium markings infused with abrupt fury. With a howl, he leaped on the nearest ruffian. The hammer slammed down and smashed the man's head in before he'd had time to turn around.

Varric slotted a bolt and let it fly. It neatly skewered another man in the throat, and he went down with a sigh and a gurgle.

"Odette!" Fenris called out, becoming a silvery azure streak moving towards the next target. "Free yourself and run!"

"Fenris! No!" her cry was ragged with shock, causing him to glance at her.

Their eyes met.

Red light flared around her, illuminating her entire form, followed by a swirl of liquid scarlet rearing behind her, spreading out like dragon's wings over her head. Then it coalesced and dove, encompassing the three men clustered behind the leader. 

Varric stared, transfixed, as she reached out with one diminutive hand, punched through the leader's chest, and ripped out his heart.

The others who had remained clustered around him were surrounded in a glistening wet vortex of black and red. Their screeches of agony rebounded through the Cellar. She turned glowing crimson eyes towards them and gestured. One of them was spat out of the maelstrom at her feet. She leaned down, her tiny hand skewering through leather and bone and flesh, and she made short work of him.

Quickly, efficiently, she disposed of them all, crushing their hearts before tossing them aside.

The smell of blood drenched Varric, nearly making him gag.

The lone survivor took to his heels. Those crimson eyes turned his way, and the swirling scarlet swarm went after him.

"We need him alive, Odette!" Varric yelled, finally getting enough wits about him to scramble forwards.

She blinked. The storm hesitated.

Fenris slugged the man with one mailed fist as he ran past, knocking him to the ground where he lay unmoving.

Then the elf whirled to face Odette.

Warily Varric approached.

"What are you," Fenris snarled.

"Fenris…" she said. It seemed like she was struggling to recall, to say his name.

"Abomination," he hissed, hefting his hammer and taking a step forward. "Free her, demon, or be destroyed." 

"Fenris, no!" Varric cried out. "Look at her. You've seen abominations before, she is not possessed!"

"No, she is possessed," Fenris insisted. Through his wrath, Varric detected a note of desperation.

Varric was finally able to reach her, and he moved in between her and Fenris.

"Odette. Odette! Can you hear me?"

Vaguely her face turned towards him. 

"You…you are Messere Varric. You called me Rosie." Part of him sighed in relief. It was her voice, and her voice alone. Abominations, when revealed, spoke in a twisted warping of the person being possessed, and the demon possessing them. And despite the garish red light illuminating her, the hissing swarm of blood droplets undulating behind her, it was her. Coated in blood, not a square inch of skin uncovered, her body was still hers, no deformation or transformation into something else.

"That's right, Rosie. Calm down now. The bad men are all gone."

"The catalyst remains. I cannot return to what I was."

"The catalyst?" He glanced around, then saw Fenris. "Fenris. Turn it off."

"What?"

"Your angry lyrium lightshow of death. Turn it off."

"You are a fool. Why would I weaken myself now, when she stands ready to kill us both?"

"If you don't turn it off, she probably will! Now do it!"

Fenris sighed, but the searing blue light faded. The crimson light around Odette dimmed at the same time, until both were gone. The swirling red mist fell to the ground in a torrent of blood, covering everything in a slick wet blanket of scarlet. 

Odette looked as if she'd been painted in it. By someone using a very heavy brush. Like she'd been dipped in a vat, her hair made a sodden black mass streaming down her back. It ran off her in rivulets, pooling at her feet, the flow lessening until only a few trickles snaked their way down her body.

"Varric?" she asked, bewildered, grey eyes staring as if seeing him for the first time.

"It's okay, Rosie. I'm here."

Tears left behind tracks of pale skin as her gaze turned to Fenris, who stood poised to strike.

"I am so sorry, Leto. I wanted you to never see…" she whispered, then folded bonelessly to the floor in a dead faint.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Fenris struggles with the unaccustomed emotions surging within him, and they visit the Apostate of Darktown.

  


 

#  Chapter 6

"She's alive. See if there's another robe in that shack of hers," Varric said to Fenris, moving to Odette's side. "I've gotten blood on my coat again."

"A robe?" Fenris demanded. The man at his feet stirred, and Fenris absently slammed a heel into his jaw. "What for? Kill her now, while she's unable to defend herself."

"She's not an abomination, Fenris."

"You saw what she did. You saw how frail her control was. She is a danger to everyone around her."

"You want her dead? Then you come and do it. I won't stand in your way," Varric snapped, taking a couple of steps away from the unconscious elf. "But do it quickly. The natives are getting restless."

Movement inside the shacks was growing, and a few people had already emerged. They stood some distance away from the tableau. They watched, silently. Waiting.

"I've never seen you skittish," Fenris sneered, striding towards the supine woman. Gripping his hammer, he raised it high over his head, ready to bring it whistling down into her skull.

Then he stopped.

"What's wrong, elf?" Varric asked. "Smash her brains and let's get going. We still have to tie up the one we managed to keep alive."

Fenris stared down at her, eyes narrowed to slits, lips peeled back in a snarl. Muscles bulged and the hammer shook as he held it. 

With a curse he swept away, sliding the handle of the hammer through the loops on his back. Then he stalked over and reached into her hut. After a moment of feeling around, he pulled out a dark, ragged cloak and threw it at the dwarf. His shoulders were not as set as they had been, it was as if something had broken within him.

With a smirk he didn't bother to hide, Varric squatted next to her and began gingerly wrapping her in the cloak. He was careful because he didn't know what was wrong with her, and because of her gory state. Fenris bound their prisoner's arms and hands after divesting him of weapons, coin purse, and any other sundries. Then he woke the man by slapping his cheeks, not softly.

"Leave what you find," Varric told him. 

Fenris grunted, but left the things on the ground.

Varric finished wrapping her up knelt next to her, to pick her up.

"I'll do that," Fenris said, shoving their dazed prisoner towards the dwarf. 

"Do what?" Varric asked. "Oh, no, elf. You can't just toss her over your shoulder and us be on our way. We have no idea what's wrong with her."

"I have no intention of doing her further harm."

"Are you sure about this?"

His question was answered as Fenris stooped, and with a gentleness that surprised the dwarf, gathered Odette to him.

"She's so light…" Fenris murmured, then looked surprised and chagrinned.

After Varric saw the dangerous glint in Fenris' eye, he decided not to comment on it, instead bringing Bianca back out.

She was the cleanest out of all of them.

He pointed her at their prisoner.

"Now, friend. You are going to come with us. As I'd rather not drag your sorry carcass through Darktown, you will have the privilege of walking. That can change."

"Yeah, yeah, mate," the man slurred. "I know the drill."

"Then, shall we?"

They began moving out of the Cellar, to be stopped by a wall of the people who dwelt there.

"Out of my way," Fenris growled. Varric hushed him.

"She's hurt," Varric told them, gesturing to the bundle that was Odette. "We're going to take her to a healer."

"Which one?" A woman asked, stepping forward. That was when Varric noticed that they were all armed with something. Very few had actual weapons. Mostly it was frying pans, clubs, and even a few with only a stone or a brick. 

"The Apostate."

Everyone in Darktown knew about "the Apostate". But no one ever talked about him. He had saved many, many lives in Darktown in the years since he'd taken up residence. Even the jaded, desperate folks forced to live there would never give him up to the Templars. For any amount of coin.

"He don't take many anymore," the woman said. "Too busy with the mages. You think he'll help?"

"I think so," Varric said. "If not, I'll take her to the Gallows. A Circle mage will help her."

"You willing to spend coin on one of us?" she demanded, incredulous.

"I am. And speaking of which. Those men, they probably didn't have much, but except for the clothes on this jolly one," he poked their prisoner with Bianca, "we've left it all. To pay for the inconvenience."

The woman stared hard at them both for a moment before nodding and stepping to one side.

Varric returned the nod and they set out. 

"Out with it, elf. You're making me nervous."

"Out with what," Fenris snapped.

"The protests. The refusals. We're going to see your favorite person, the Apostate, after all. I expected foaming at the mouth and threats to my gentleman bits."

"We don't have time for an herbalist. Even I understand that magic has its place."

"Well, isn't that inter—"

"Enough, dwarf. I don't wish to speak of it further."

"Might as well start with you, then, my fine red friend," Varric said, poking their prisoner in the back with Bianca.

"Yeah, about that," the prisoner complained. "When can I get a bath?"

"It won't be something you'll have to concern yourself with if you don't cooperate," Varric said cheerfully.

"Look, I'll tell you what I know, but I don't know much. Rogal was the one what did all the meeting with the duke, and since she—" he shuddered and swallowed. "Well, he won't be telling nobody nothing anymore."

"The duke?"

"Yeah. Some high nob what wanted her. Don't know who he is. Don't know why he wanted her."

"But you do know when and where you were supposed to deliver her, right?"

"Yeah. The Docks, in two nights. Warehouse District. We was to look for the crown."

"The crown?"

The man shrugged in his bindings. "That's all I know. Look for a crown."

"Ah. Thank you, friend. Now. Any reason why I shouldn't kill a murdering rapist?"

"Take me to the guard. I'll confess."

"Now you see," Varric said, rubbing his nose. "The guard are awful busy these days, what with all the unrest between the Knight-Commander Meredith and the First Enchanter Orsino. I'd rather not burden them. They probably don't have time to deal with a flea like you."

"Just kill him, already," Fenris grated. "You're both making my head hurt."

"See? And you've seen him when he gets testy. It's kind of pretty, but in the way an out of control fire is pretty. You don't want to be too close."

"Look, you let me go, I swear I'll never come back to Kirkwall. I'll never bother you again."

"Where will you go?"

"Ostwick. That's where we came from."

"Right again. I'm a genius," Varric murmured to himself. "It's a deal. We'll cut you loose and give you two hours to get out of the city. After that, I tell the Coterie you told me all kinds of interesting things. If you're out of Kirkwall, it won't be a problem. If you're still in Kirkwall, you'll wish we had finished you off."

"Whatever you say, mate," the man said, sagging. 

True to his word, Varric cut his bonds once they reached the level the Apostate's clinic was on. The man disappeared without a word or a glance behind him.

Varric paused for a moment.

"Stay put," he told the elf. Then disappeared into the surrounding darkness. He was gone about ten minutes.

"What was all that about?" Fenris demanded.

"Sending a friendly little note to the Coterie, that's all. I told them that their latest Fereldan allies met with an unfortunate accident, and one spilled everything about a certain lyrium smuggling operation in exchange for his freedom."

"Lyrium smuggling operation?"

"Oh, a little venture of theirs I learned about through a third party."

Fenris' expression flickered with approval. "I thought you said you'd give him two hours."

"I lied. Shocking, I know."

"The Coterie will tear him apart. After they torture him for days."

The grin Varric gave him was not nice. "That's the plan."

"Come," Fenris ordered. "Let's get this over with."

"Your wish is my command," Varric said.

The doors to the clinic were closed, but Varric made quick and quiet work of the lock, letting them enter noiselessly. 

The room they were in was relatively large, a storeroom from days long ago when this area still had sky as a roof. It had been converted into a clinic, of sorts. Shoved against the walls were boxes, crates, and chests all holding a miscellany of herbs, bandages, and random objects the few who could spare them had donated. Four tables were set up towards the rear of the room, and pallets dotted the floor. 

The clinic was empty more often than not these days, those in need too fearful of seeing a hunted apostate, wanted by the evermore zealous Templars. It was empty now, no lights within, in utter darkness.

"I wouldn't advance any further," said a voice, clear and determined, but tired. "Not unless you want to see what the Apostate can do."

"Oh, stop that. I just didn't want to wake your neighbors by pounding on your door," Varric told him, considerately shutting and locking the door behind them.

Light grew from a lantern. The robed man who'd lit it turned to them. A few days' worth of growth stubbled his cheeks, and his eyes were heavily shadowed. His normally fine features were taut with fatigue and worry, underlined with a score of darker emotions. Straight hair was drawn back from his face, held by a leather thong. A staff was in one hand, held before him, obviously he was more than ready to hold off any interlopers.

"What do you want from me, Varric? I'm busy."

"Don't be that way, Blondie. We are on a mission of mercy."

The mage stepped around a table, freezing into place as Fenris moved out of the shadows.

"What is _he_ doing here?" he demanded. Then he did a double take. Strained lines of his expression relaxed, then shifted. His eyes cleared. It was almost like speaking to a different person. These days, the instinctive shift to caring healer never lasted long. "You're both covered in blood. Come on." 

This was the Apostate, their sometime companion and Hawke's paramour, Anders. 

"Get on the table," he told them. The table was a plain wooden table, the kind to be found in any tavern or kitchen. But this one had a screen set up in front of it, and while it was obviously scoured clean, years of stains had turned the wood black.

"It's not our blood," Varric assured him as Fenris carefully set his bundle down on the table. "We're not the mission. She is."

" 'She'?"

Varric nodded at the table. "You can't tell by looking, but there is a very unusual elven maiden in those rather disgusting robes."

Anders hurried to the table, leaning his staff against it and reaching for the cloak. 

"If it is a she," he said, not looking up as he smoothly began pulling the cloth aside. "Then you two need to wait over there." He nodded towards the front of the room.

"It's nothing we haven't seen before," Varric said as Fenris moved in protest.

Now Anders favored them with a glare.

"You brought her to me. She is my patient now. You are not. You wait over there."

Varric raised his hands placatingly. "Okay, okay, don't get your knickers in a bunch. Er, you do wear knickers beneath those robes, don't you?"

"I left them on Marian's bedroom floor," Anders said absently, still intent on the robes. Marian was Hawke's first name. "And you are still not on the other side of the room." 

"Blondie…"

"Now, Varric."

The two retreated towards the doors and waited. 

They could hear Anders muttering to himself, but not in the way that someone normally does. It sounded as if he was having an actual conversation, but supplying all sides of it himself. At some points it was eerily pleading. There was more than one shocked exclamation that nearly sent Fenris hurrying over. Varric managed to restrain him with a hand on the elf's arm. Fenris had to content himself with pacing like some great cat.

Finally a soft, golden glow illumed the area Anders stood in. It was a warm effulgence, bathing Varric and Fenris in a refreshing lightness. Then it vanished and Anders stepped out from behind the screen. He looked confused, wiping his hands clean on a cloth, staff held under one arm. He hardly ever had to use his staff as a focus when healing. Only in the most difficult of cases did he need it.

The stare he leveled at Fenris was remarkably devoid of their usual rivalry, instead it was curious, and bewildered.

"You…had better come take a look at this."

The tone of his voice sent them both with quickened steps.

The instant Fenris rounded the screen and saw her, he stopped dead in his tracks, face a mask of shock.

"It…can't be…"

Varric continued on, noticing that Anders had thoughtfully placed a box next to the high table and stepped up onto it. He wished he hadn't.

Odette lay on the table, eyes still closed, red gold lashes bright against her pale cheek. Anders had covered her enough for the sake of modesty, but the rest of her was still bare.

From jaw to sole, she was covered in the same kind of markings Fenris had. But where his were dim white when not active, hers were rawly open wounds scrawled into her skin in undeniably the same patterns Fenris sported. Blood seeped from them continuously, Anders occasionally reaching out and gently wiping it away when it got too obscuring.

"For years I've wanted to take a look at your markings," the mage said to Fenris, gazing down at Odette with pity. "But not like this. This is…beyond torture. It's a wonder she's not dead already. Or at the very least, mad. I can't heal this. Most of the spirit essence of her body that channels healing has been perverted, used instead to keep her…like this."

"They can't be the same," Fenris said, voice shaking. "They're just cosmetic. Cut into her. They can't have any real power. Not even a Magister would be monster enough to inflict this on someone like her."

"As much as I want to agree with you, you saw what she did as much as I did," Varric told him. "And she said you were the catalyst."

"That's why she wouldn't look at me," Fenris said, reaching out and touching her hand as if to take it, then jerking back. "She couldn't."

"I didn't know it bothered you so much."

"I didn't either."

Varric sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay, Blondie, you can't fix her, but can you tell us anything?"

"Some," Anders said with an answering sigh, leaning heavily on his staff. If he'd looked tired before, he appeared ready to topple over now. "Lyrium was used in their making, just like Fenris, but…"

"Something went wrong," Fenris said, eyes still scraping over her in disbelief.

"I don't know. Maybe this was what the mage who created this—"

"Corvinus," Fenris seethed. Anders gave him an odd look. The tone Fenris used was normally for when it was an extreme personal affront. They'd all heard it, but never on behalf of someone else.

"Maybe this was what this Corvinus wanted. He used corrupted lyrium instead of pure."

"But corrupted lyrium is useless," Varric objected. "Other than for poisons. Magically speaking, worthless."

"No. Corrupted lyrium can be very useful, but costly in terms of energy. It's used in explosives as well, but only in small amounts with other explosive ingredients. Pure lyrium is easier. It attunes to you instantly, becomes part of you. Add to that the fact that lyrium is essentially magic energy solidified, that makes it very useful for mages and Templars," his face twisted at the mention of the knights of the church. "Drink enough of it, you can become immune to a lot of magical effects. Of course, because it becomes such a part of you, you also get hopelessly addicted, and there is no cure."

"That's pure lyrium. But corrupted lyrium in magic?" Varric asked.

"Corrupted lyrium gives power, but no energy. It actually takes a massive amount of energy to unlock corrupted lyrium's potential. Without that infusion of energy, it's just a poisonous substance. But you charge it enough with magic, and you have an amazing amount of power at your disposal."

"How much power?"

Anders considered for a moment. "It would take someone with a deep understanding of the arcane to do it. Not even most trained Circle mages would be able to. It would be very, very tricky. And dangerous. Finding and harnessing an adequate power source would be the hardest part. But, if all that was done…in terms of raw power, a lump of corrupted lyrium the size of my fist could level a city block."

Varric gave a low whistle. "Could you do it?"

"Me? I've never dealt with explosions outside of a fireball. I probably could…I'd have to use a unique trigger, though. Blood magic was used in her markings, so I'd have to find something else. Something spirit related. Maybe…something having to do with the levels of emotion in Kirkwall as an energy source…that would probably work…that in and of itself would need some pretty rare ingredients…" His eyes were far away when he trailed off, and Varric had to call his name several times before he snapped out of it. "Sorry. Interesting academic problem. You know how we mages get," he said with a grin. It seemed rather forced, but Varric let it go. 

"And what of her?" Fenris said. "What do bombs have to do with her?"

"Nothing," Anders replied. "With her, it's not about explosions, it's about power. Your markings are pure, elegant. A well balanced blade of remarkable craftsmanship and skill. Hers are a big rock on a stick to smash things. Your will fuels yours, the lyrium provides the energy and magnifies that. The trick with yours that only Danarius knew was how to keep the lyrium active, instead of consumed with every use. For her…it's blood magic. The fact that her markings are open wounds is no accident, they're that way by design."

He drew their attention back to her markings. "Look. The bleeding has almost stopped, but not quite. They'll never really ever stop bleeding, just slow down to where it's barely noticeable. I'm guessing when she gets excited; angry, frightened, desperate, she bleeds more. The blood fuels the magic, energizing the corrupted lyrium. There's something else I can't quite pinpoint, another type of trigger, but it's a ritual using the darkest aspects of blood magic, so there's probably a lot about it I will never work out." 

"That would be you, elf," Varric said.

"I realize that," Fenris said tightly.

"You?" Anders asked. "You mean it's tied to you somehow?"

"She was…activated when I was in combat. Our eyes met and then…"

"A bloody mess, in every sense," Varric finished for him.

"I don't even want to think of what she'd go through with these fully active. Your markings are frightening enough, Fenris, but those coupled with blood magic, and the amount of sheer pain that would be driving it…" Anders shivered. "It would be pulling the blood out of her at an astonishing rate, not to mention the internal stresses of how warped her body's channels have become. Excruciating isn't the word. And it happens over and over again."

Considering everything the mage had seen, everything he'd been through, the shiver spoke more to them about the horror of her markings than any words he used.

"What do you mean?" Varric asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

"The markings are healing. Slowly, but healing, even though they'll never fully close. Every time she gets…in that state, they get ripped back open, like they were being freshly inflicted. It's a cycle of immeasurable cruelty."

"Will…she be all right?" Fenris asked after a moment.

"I've done what I can, but this is far beyond my ability. I've never seen anything like it."

"What about your extra friend?" Varric tried to ask diplomatically.

"He hasn't either," Anders replied sourly. "I can't undo this. But I did heal some pretty severe contusions she'd gotten, a compression fracture to her forearm, and a couple of broken ribs. Someone slammed her about a bit."

Fenris didn't even have the grace to look embarrassed, all his surly focus on Anders.

"But why is she unconscious?" Varric asked. 

"Exsanguination. Blood loss," Anders replied with a shrug. "The markings used too much of her blood as fuel. I told you, corrupted lyrium is expensive. That's why no one uses it. There are easier ways to gain that kind of power." He glanced at her. "Or there were, at any rate. The ritual is complex, but I wouldn't think it couldn't be replicated, with study. Not like your markings, Fenris. Any experienced blood mage could probably figure it out and inflict it on someone else. It is a relatively quick and easy way to gain incredible strength. So long as you don't mind the insane anguish and possible death of whomever you carve it into."

"But she will recover," Fenris asked, unexpected concern in his voice. "Won't she?"

"She should. The markings are quiet. So long as they don't activate before she's regained what she's lost she should be fine. It'll take a few days. She should wake up in half a day, maybe a little more."

"I hear a lot of 'should's in there, mage," Fenris said accusingly.

"What do you want from me? I'm not the Maker. I'm a Circle trained apostate with a gift for healing. I may have…unique circumstances, but I am no blood mage, nor do I know or want to know the intricacies of that discipline. I don't know everything. And her markings make it impossible for me to be definite."

They did know a blood mage, and a rather accomplished one at that, but no one mentioned going to her for guidance. Varric wouldn't have minded, but the one thing Anders and Fenris had in common besides loyalty to Hawke was their disgust and distrust of Merrill.

" _Opus artis_ ," Fenris seethed through clenched teeth, staring at her.

"You never asked us who she is," Varric observed.

Anders turned and wearily sank down into a chair behind a desk, resting his staff against the wall behind him. Pulling out some parchment and a quill, he began making notes. "You didn't volunteer it, so I didn't ask. One thing you learn about working in Darktown; don't ask unnecessary questions. I didn't need to know her name or where she's from to treat her." The scratching of the quill paused for a moment. "Looking at those markings, though, I can pretty well guess where she's from."

Fenris grimaced, but did not otherwise respond.

"What are you doing?" Varric inquired.

"I assume she's going to be in your care for a while. She can't stay here. Too dangerous. I have Templars sniffing around almost every day now. Now they're accompanied by city guard, too. They'd destroy her without a second thought. I'm giving you a list of things you can get, some herb infused bandages to help with the bleeding for brief periods of time, some tinctures to help with her pain. You can get them from any apothecary in Lowtown."

"No, I'll go to the Gallows," Fenris insisted. "The Circle merchants will have the best, won't they."

"They will. I wouldn't dare go there without Marian," Anders said. The Gallows was where the Circle of Magi was headquartered. Along with the Templars, their guardians and jailors. "It won't be cheap, though," he added.

"Like it matters. What else do I have to spend my money on," Fenris snorted.

"You could always keep losing it to me and Isabela in Wicked Grace," Varric suggested.

"There will always be more to be had," Fenris said dismissively, then began looking around.

"In the chest against the wall," Anders said, holding out the list. "Take whatever you need."

Varric took it, rolling it up and stashing it in a pouch. Fenris opened the chest and pulled out a fresh set of dark robes.

"There are probably some gloves and boots around here somewhere as well. Donations. From back when I still got donations. Hopefully there will be some that will serve," Anders said, sinking back into the chair, closing his eyes.

"Anders…I know things haven't been easy for you. Take care of yourself more. And be careful." Varric said. "If not for yourself, then for her."

"I don't need you to lecture me on how much of a threat I am to her and her well-being," Anders said, not opening his eyes. "I am fully aware of it myself. Every time I see Templar armor."

"That's not what I meant."

Now Anders opened his eyes and met Varric's fully.

"Isn't it?"

"She's ready," Fenris announced. When Varric turned around, Fenris had already picked her back up.

"There's some dietary advice for her in there as well," Anders said, waving a hand. "She'll need a lot of red meat, green vegetables, that sort of thing. The chronic blood loss is bad but she can live with it. As for the markings…Keep her calm. Avoid having her around Fenris when he's in…battle mode. Best I can do. Sorry."

Already his face was losing the gentler cast when he was confronted with someone needing his healing. It was settling back into the harder, harsher lines, unforgiving and desperate as his mind turned from care to his plight, and the plight of all mages.

"Anders," Fenris said. Anders looked at him, brows drawn, obviously ready for some sort of insult or verbal attack. Fenris gave him a small bow over the figure he held protectively in his arms. "You have my thanks."

"You're…welcome…" Anders said faintly, taken off guard.

With that, Fenris spun on his heel and marched out of the clinic.

"Will wonders never cease," Anders murmured. 

Varric put five gold sovereigns on the desk. "A donation."

"Thanks. I'll be able to do a lot of good with that."

Varric nodded, then turned and followed Fenris.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Varric reveals his homier side, and Fenris shows his determination to care for Odette.

  


 

#  Chapter 7

"Finally. Lowtown. I thought we'd never get out of there," Varric said, stretching and taking a deep breath of pre-dawn air. The sky to the east was lightening, and the early Lowtown residents were beginning to stir.

The walk back to the surface had been silent, Fenris back on high alert, Varric strolling along nonchalantly. 

With a loaded bolt in Bianca.

"We'll get her to the Hanged Man and get a few hours of sleep. Then you can go to the Circle merchants and get the things Anders recommended. I'll stay with her."

"No."

"You were the one who wanted to go to the Circle merchants in the first place!"

"That's not what I meant. I'm not taking her to the Hanged Man."

"Where then—you can't be serious!"

"I am always serious. Or at least broody."

"Now he makes jokes," Varric sighed. "You can't take her to your place. It's a pigsty, you have no furniture. You can't make her sleep on a pile of dirty blankets. Not in her condition."

"There are beds there." He paused for a moment. "Somewhere."

"And what about her care? I can get people to help tend her."

"No. No one I don't know."

"You mean no one you don't trust. But that's a very limited list. And none of them will have the time or the inclination to play nursemaid."

"Hawke would."

"Well…yes…I suppose she would."

"And she's a mage with spirit healing. I can think of no one better. If I need assistance I'll call on her myself."

"But," Varric persisted. "Neither of us have any idea about those markings other than they're some sort of blood magic bastardization of what you have. Have you perhaps considered why she, of all people, got them?"

"You mean Corvinus doing what he could to try and get to me?"

"So you aren't as thick as you let on. Maybe you were right all along, and she was sent as a trap. All it could take is for the two of you to be alone. You could be playing right into it."

"I know that. It changes nothing."

"Fenris, it's dangerous."

"You're thinking I can't take care of myself?" Fenris asked, eyebrow raised, crooked grin in place.

"Of course not. But this is a terrible time for your paranoia to break down."

"You still think I'm merely paranoid?"

"No, I suppose not. And I guess if Hawke helps you out it won't be so bad. But for the most part, it'll just be you and Odette rattling around in that empty house. She's going to need waiting on hand and foot until she recovers. If she recovers," he added.

"She _will_ recover," Fenris insisted, his sudden vehemence startling Varric.

"What is with you? Just a few hours ago you were telling me to kill her. You were ready to smash her skull in yourself. Now you're all overprotective big brother."

"I…I don't know," Fenris faltered, stride slacking for the briefest of moments before strengthening again with renewed vigor.

"Or not big brother. Is it something else? Something more than that?"

That earned him one of Fenris' patented scowls.

"Come on, elf, tell me what's going on."

"No. Why do you and Hawke insist on talking things out? Sharing my feelings? It's ludicrous."

"It's helpful."

"To your stories, perhaps."

"Not just that, it's helpful to you, too. Talking, putting it all into words, helps you organize your own thoughts and feelings. It's not weakness, Fenris."

The elf only snorted, and refused to speak again for some time. Varric mentally sighed. He'd have to try another angle of attack. He needed fodder for his tales, and the elf refused to cooperate. Of course, all that other stuff too, helping Fenris get in touch with his emotions, etc. etc. That was important too. 

"Hanged Man's just around the corner," Varric finally said. "Are you sure you don't want me to take her? Come on. You can stay too. It's an inn, after all. Not like there isn't room."

Fenris just looked down his hatchet nose at the dwarf before marching resolutely on, past the turn that would take them to the Hanged Man.

"Fine, fine," the dwarf said, expelling a great, put-upon breath. "I'll go with you, instead. Like I said, she's my client. I have to make sure she's settled in."

"Very well. Then you will be able to make yourself useful and go to the Circle merchants yourself. I will be busy."

"Doing what?"

Fenris stayed stubbornly silent.

"Keep it up, Broody. I'll start telling stories about your torrid, secret love affair with the Apostate of Darktown."

Fenris' shoulders gave a decisive twitch, but otherwise the elf continued to ignore him.

"Wow, you are determined if even that can't get a rise out of you. Would make a good story, though," Varric mused. "Hiding your love so as not to hurt the woman you both respect more than anything in the world, clandestine meetings under the moon, pining for each other in the small hours of the morning, your terrible rivalry just a front all along…"

"If you do not stop I am going to vomit on you. And then I will kill you."

"Aw, it's not that bad, is it?"

"If you must choose such an outlandish partner for me, choose Sebastian. Or Aveline."

"No one would buy Aveline. Too masculine."

"Are you quite finished with my nonexistent love life?"

"I'm not sure. It has possibilities. You could cut quite the romantic figure, you know. The dark, passionate elf with a mysterious past that no one can get close to. I'd have to ask you some sensitive questions for the juicier bedroom bits, though."

"You can ask Isabela for any details," Fenris said with a wicked gleam and a smirk.

"Isabela—you dog. I thought she just inspired you to act more like everyone else. I had no idea it had gone that far."

"She can be a welcome distraction from bleak thoughts. Isabela reminds me that I'm not only a broken weapon, that I can still be something more."

"That's deep."

"It is what it is. You wanted me to share some of my feelings. There they are."

"I suppose it'll have to do. Although the physical is not nearly as interesting as the emotional, for those kinds of tales. Perhaps you have a growing fondness for Rivaini?" Varric paused. "Rivaini…Queenie…Goldie…" Then he threw his hands up in frustration.

"Still working on her price?" Fenris asked, utterly ignoring the question.

"Yes, and I just can't find anything else that fits!"

"She said she wanted something 'cute'. Just pick something."

"No, I can't do this by half-measures. She'd never forgive me. And I'd never forgive myself for compromising my principles."

"You have those?"

"Ha. Ha ha. Very funny, elf. I'll have you know I take great pride in my creative abilities. They're more useful than you might think."

"Useful? For what? Amusing a room full of drunks?"

"My silver tongue has gotten us out of more scrapes than you can imagine. I bet I could even talk my way out of a Templar interrogation."

"If you get hauled in by the Templars, I'm certainly not waiting around to find out."

They made their way through Lowtown to Hightown, seemingly occupied with their habitual banter, trading snarky remarks. By the time they made it to Fenris' mansion, the sun had broken over the horizon, and the sounds of the hawkers in the market were beginning to rise.

Both had to pause for a moment after they went inside, letting their eyes adjust to the murky black interior. Fenris led Varric up the stairs in the main hall and to the bedroom on the right of the chamber he normally inhabited. 

"You want to keep her close, I see."

"Where am I supposed to keep her? The larder?"

"Just making an observation, don't mind me."

"I rarely do."

The room, like the rest of the manor, was largely untouched since the day Fenris had claimed the property for himself. There was still a four-poster bed, wardrobe, and a few chests scattered about. Anything that might have contained something of worth had been opened and ransacked years before. 

"Stop!" Varric exclaimed. Fenris went immobile, half-leaning over the bed, in the act of setting her down on it. "You cannot possibly think to put her there yet."

"Where else am I supposed to put her? In the fireplace?" the elf asked archly.

"No, you fool. Give me a moment." Crossing to the bed, Varric took a hold of the linens and pulled them off. The smell of mold blossomed around them, accompanied by a great cloud of dust. A few spiders plopped to the floor and skittered into the shadows in surprise. "Would it have killed you to at least perform some simple maintenance? These linens cost a pretty sovereign back in the day."

He considered the remaining mattress. It seemed to be in good enough condition, but it was still not optimal. Varric shook his head.

"You can't use this bed yet. Who knows what kind of vermin there could be in there."

"What do you suggest? I cannot be her cot indefinitely."

Grumbling, Varric pulled Bianca off his back and set her carefully on the desk in the room. Then he pulled off his coat and rolled up his sleeves.

"Go put her on whatever it is you sleep on for the time being. I'll get this place at least relatively safe for her."

"Safe?"

"She's literally covered in open wounds. You can't expect her to recover on filthy, pest-filled bedding."

"You're surprisingly domestic," Fenris said with a smirk, watching as Varric crossed to the window and flung it open, then unlatched and pushed open the shutters on the outside. Morning sunlight and fresh air flooded into the room. The first the room had experienced in years.

"And you're impossible. I should just take her to the Hanged Man. It's not Hawke's place, but at least it's better than this." Turning, he hauled the mattress off the bed and tossed it onto the sill of the window. 

"No. Odette remains here."

"That's what I thought you'd say." With a sigh, he crossed back to his coat and pulled out his purse. "Here. Put her down and go buy some fresh linens. Lavender. Mint. You can pick up the rest of the stuff that Anders told us to get while you're there."

"Spending your own coin? I thought she was a client."

"I guess watching Hawke supply all the supposed unfortunate in Kirkwall with her own wealth has had a bad influence on me. Just do it before I change my mind." Varric set his purse down next to his coat and turned back to the mattress.

Fenris watched him for a moment, then turned and went into his own room.

Carefully, he sank to one knee, setting her down on the pallet that served as his simple bed. She shifted and sighed and he froze, relaxing once she settled and stopped stirring. The robe she was wrapped in had parted, revealing her face. It was shockingly pale, and deep purple shadows smudged the skin beneath her eyes and in the hollows of her cheeks. Her brows were drawn, evidence that even though unconscious, she was still in pain.

The markings on her chin and jaw were raw and red, but there was very little blood spotting the cloth that shrouded her. She looked very vulnerable as she slept, tiny and hapless. But there was familiarity in the line of her brow and the quiet sound of her breathing. 

His hand quested out of its own accord, one mailed finger brushing that pale skin. Then he stiffened, eyes narrowing, and he pushed himself to his feet and out the door.

Grabbing Varric's purse, he all but ran to escape the mansion.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Hawke pays a visit, and Odette awakens from her slumber, and more disturbance within Fenris.

  


 

#  Chapter 8

"You sent for me?" 

"Yes, I need your help."

"Not another haunted house, I hope?" she asked brightly, stepping into Fenris' mansion.

"No, nothing so mundane as that," Varric said. He noted that she was dressed in full battle regalia; mantled robes, cowl, and staff. "You do come prepared."

"You don’t call on me often. But when you do, I have found it better to be overdressed than under."

He smiled and led her through the mansion. "True, but hopefully this time you won't need any of that."

"What's going on?" she asked, curiosity coloring her words.

This was the famous, or perhaps notorious, Marian Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall and open apostate. She was tall for a woman, and the build beneath the robes was lithe and strong, like a dancer's. Her short cropped black hair and crystal blue eyes gave her a slightly roguish air, magnified by the jagged splash of a red mark (Scar? Birthmark? Varric had never asked.) across the bridge of her nose. 

That steady blue gaze held intelligence and wit, as well as a steely mind capable of battle tactics and a depth of perception that let her see more than others liked. More than once Varric had wished she'd been a dwarf. Then she would have been perfect. If she'd been a little heavier, and a lot shorter, he might have been able to deal with it, but he was a dwarf of vices, and he was shallow enough to comfortably admit the physical meant a great deal to him in a partner.

Still, perhaps it was better the way it was between them. In rare moments of absolute honesty, usually inspired by a vast amount of whisky, Varric admitted that the human mage was his best friend.

"I assume Anders told you about my and Fenris'…newest friend."

"No…" she faltered for the briefest of moments, turning her face away from Varric. "Anders hasn't…told me anything."

"What is it?" Varric demanded. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she replied with a sigh. "Nothing I can do anything about, anyway. Neither can you, before you ask. What can I do to help?"

Full of misgivings, Varric respected her wishes and returned back to the subject at hand. "We've managed to pick up another stray," he said, ushering her into Fenris' room.

"Stray?"

"Here."

Varric stood next to Fenris' pallet, where Odette still lay unmoving from where Fenris had set her. The elf had been gone for a few hours, and Varric had taken the opportunity to send for Hawke. Between corrupted lyrium infused markings, Tevinter Magisters, and this 'duke', Varric had felt the need for reinforcements. Despite what Fenris wished. Besides, there were certain, more delicate issues to take into consideration, two men caring for one unaware woman.

Hawke knelt next to her, leaning her staff against the wall. "May I?" she gestured to the robe.

"Yes. But I have to warn you, it's pretty shocking."

"It always is, isn't it?"

Graceful, slender fingers gently pulled the robes aside, and sure enough, she gasped.

"Varric, those markings…"

He nodded. "We know. We took her to Anders last night and he confirmed. They're just like Fenris', only they're inscribed corrupted lyrium, not pure."

"Corrupted lyrium?" Her eyes never left the elf on the floor, but Varric could sense the rapid calculations going on in her mind. "Fueled by blood magic. Instant and devastating power, drawing off her own blood. That could kill her."

"And she doesn't seem to have full control of it," Varric told her as she brushed aside more of the robes. "While it does seem to have an emotional trigger, it also seems that Fenris himself is a trigger."

"Fenris?" Lifting one hand over the sleeping woman's face, it began to glow a soft golden-green. "It looks like Anders already healed her as much as possible. He's much stronger in spirit than I'll ever be. This is a mix of blood magic, spirit, and arcane the likes of which I could have never imagined. Perhaps First Enchanter Orsino…"

"I forbid it." Fenris strode into the room, shedding packages as he came. Kneeling next to Hawke, he closed the robes over Odette firmly. "I had no choice in taking her to Anders yesterday, and I had no choice in you being here today. No more mages."

"But I can't undo this," she said, watching Fenris with startled surprise. She sent a questioning glance towards Varric, who just shrugged. "He might be able to do something."

"He can't. Unless he's a blood mage and no one knows."

"I doubt it."

"As do I. So he would be useless."

"I didn't ask you here to unravel the markings," Varric said. "I only asked you here to help us take care of her until she wakes up."

"You didn't have to summon her yet," Fenris snarled. "I told you I would ask her to come myself if I felt the need."

"And so you'd take responsibility. Even to make sure and wrap her completely in bandages? Head to toe? Covering every mark? Of course, who better than you? You know exactly every square inch of anatomy those markings cover. Not to mention making sure she's bathed, kept clean? You are willing to do all of that. I had no idea you were such the nursemaid."

Fenris colored, and didn't reply.

"I'm here now," Hawke said, standing and moving to a chair, shooting inquisitive little glances between the elf and the dwarf. Stripping off her gloves, cowl, and mantle, she lay them to one side and sat. "And I'm not going away. Not for a while, anyway. Tell me what's going on."

"As stubborn as ever," Fenris spat. Hawke smiled, leaning back in the chair.

"As ever," she agreed.

Fenris just leaned against a wall, folding his arms and glaring daggers at Varric, which Varric brushed off like cobwebs. The dwarf sat across from her.

"Where to start?"

"Who is she?"

"That may be the most difficult answer of them all…"

Once again, he went through the story, Fenris only supplying the usual surly grunt as a supplement. Hawke listened attentively, eyes bright as she absorbed it all.

"I see," she finally said, tapping her chin. "So, in addition to caring for until she wakes up, you're going to meet with this duke tomorrow night and you want someone to stay with her."

"And to help me get this place at least somewhat habitable," Varric said, nodding. 

"We could always take her to my place. Bodhan is an excellent caretaker."

"No," Fenris snarled. "She stays here."

"What is wrong with you?" Hawke finally demanded. "You have been like a bear with a sore tooth since I showed up. I'm trying to help you." Varric was able to get away with asking such things, but could not push. Hawke, however, generally brooked no such obstinacy from the elf.

"I never asked for your help."

"So we're back to this? I thought you and I had moved past all that," she said, sudden hurt flashing across her face. "I thought we were friends."

It was his turn to sigh, rubbing his forehead. "I'm sorry, Hawke. I don't know why I'm acting this way. This woman…" he gestured towards the sleeping girl. "She confuses me. And I don't know why."

"Perhaps," Hawke said gently. "It's because you knew her before. When you were still Leto. She did call you that."

"Twice," he agreed. "But I still don't know what it means, and I haven't been able to ask her."

"Probably because every time you're around her you turn into rabid ogre," Varric interjected. "She's terrified of you."

"You don't have to tell me that!" he snapped. "I told you I don't know why I'm like this. Perhaps it's those markings of hers, reacting with mine, interfering with my mind."

"I don't think that's it," Hawke said.

"You know nothing."

Her lips twisted with exasperation. "Fine, have it your way. Varric, what do you want me to do?"

"Come help me with her room," he replied, hopping out of the chair and leading the way to the bedroom that he was trying to get prepared. Hawke stood and followed, Fenris trailing behind after a last glance at Odette. "Tell me you got the linens at least, elf."

"I got everything you asked for," Fenris said sourly. "And here," he tossed the purse at the dwarf, who caught it and set back down next to Bianca. "I used my own coin, as I said I would. She need not be beholden to you when she wakes."

"So she'll be beholden to you instead? How romantic."

"That's not what I…that isn't how…"

Hawke took pity on him. "Shoo," she said, flicking her fingers at Fenris. "Go sit with her. Varric and I will get this taken care of."

"It doesn't seem right," he said uncertainly.

"Right or not, you'll only be in the way," she told him. "Now scoot."

Finally his expression lightened, and he smiled a bit. "Very well. Far be it for me to interfere with such a delicate operation."

"Why don't you fix something to eat," she suggested brightly. 

"Fix…ah…yes. As to that…"

"You can't cook, can you," she asked flatly.

"Not a bit," he admitted.

"Fine, fine," she sighed. "Varric, can you?"

"Don’t look at me. If the Hanged Man's kitchens don't produce, I generally don’t eat."

"How do either of you survive on a day-to-day basis?" she demanded. "I'll finish in here and then make some lunch. I assume you do actually have food?"

"I bought some while I was out," Fenris said defensively. 

She arched an eyebrow at him. "What, exactly, did you buy?"

"I'm not a complete moron. Plenty of red meat and green vegetables."

"Anders told you to, didn't he."

"Well…er…" Finally Fenris laughed, holding up his hands. "Yes. The abomi—Anders gave us a list."

Shaking her head with a grin, Hawke set to helping Varric get the room to rights.

Sometime later, they were sitting in the cleaned room. The bed had been put back together after the mattress had been beaten and aired, and it had been made up with the fresh linens. Lavender and mint had been strategically placed to help with the remaining mustiness and to help drive out any of the remaining vermin. The fireplace had a merry blaze dancing in it to help dispel the remaining damp. It was like a different room.

Odette had been transferred from Fenris' pallet to the now sumptuous bed, and Hawke had carefully wrapped her in the herb-infused bandages. Color was beginning to return to Odette's face, and Hawke announced that she could wake up at any time. The relief in Fenris was obvious and immediate, he sagged and took a step backwards, nearly having to support himself against an available end table.

Both Hawke and Varric noticed, but did not comment.

Using the fireplace in the room, Hawke had made a simple stew, heavy with beef. Fenris had rummaged in the disused kitchens downstairs and found bowls and flatware for them to use. He had even washed them with meticulous attention.

So now they sat around, eating and waiting for Odette to awaken.

"I'm sorry for getting you involved in all this," Varric said. 

"As am I," Fenris added.

"Don't be," Hawke said with a grin. "Usually when I'm asked for help it involves a lot more violence. This is rather refreshing, actually. Although if she's going to be like this often, you might consider getting some more permanent help. A nurse. And a maid. The linens and her robes will need to be washed frequently, along with getting her bandages changed."

"I will come up with a plan if she gets the way again," Fenris said.

"This is good, Hawke," Varric said, ladling out another bowlful of the stew. 

"It's mother's recipe."

"Brilliant, beautiful, deadly, and you can cook. Is there anything you can't do?"

"Spin wondrous tales that leave my audience spellbound and amazed," she replied.

"You'll make someone a wonderful wife," Varric commented.

Abruptly her face became troubled. "I doubt that."

This time it was Fenris and Varric's turn to exchange a look. 

Any further questions were belayed by a soft moan from the bed. Fenris was at her side in an instant.

"No!" she cried, flinging her arms up over her face. "Don't! He will see! He will—"

"Odette!" Fenris called her name, taking her flailing wrists and holding them. "Odette! It's safe! Calm yourself!"

"Le—Fenris…" She stilled and her eyes opened. When she saw him, she shrank back into the bed, eyes automatically sliding away from his. "Are you going to kill me at last?" she whispered.

His jaw set at the despair flooding off of her. "No. I am not going to kill you."

"Rosie, I'm here, too," Varric said, stepping to where she'd be able to see him without moving. She relaxed a bit, seeing him. Fenris released her arms with a surly look at the dwarf. 

"Where am I?" she asked.

"At my house," Fenris told her.

"How do you feel?" Varric asked her.

"Tired…" she murmured. It was a broken sound. "Very tired."

"Then you get some more rest," Varric said to her, waving a hand to Hawke, who came up to the bed. "This is our friend, Hawke. She's going to help us for a while. Until you're back on your feet."

"Hello, Odette," Hawke said softly.

"Champion," Odette said softly in recognition.

"Yes, but do try not to hold that against me," Hawke said with her impish grin. 

A flicker of a smile tried to resurrect Odette's pale lips, then died away.

"Be still just a moment. I want to check to see if you're bleeding again." Hawke raised a hand, and the familiar soothing light surrounded it. She shook her head at Fenris' intent look. "Do you feel up to eating something? You should try, if you can. To rebuild your strength."

She nodded weakly. 

"Can someone help her sit up?" Hawke asked, but Fenris was already easing Odette upright with one arm, placing pillows behind her.

"Bring it to me," he said. "I will help her."

"As you say, messere," Hawke said, eyebrows nearly to her hairline. But she went and ladled a generous portion into a bowl and brought it to him. Varric provided a cup of watered wine.

Odette kept her eyes trained on the coverlet, even as she leaned into Fenris' half-embrace. It was the oddest mix of wanting to avoid, and not being able to. He looked down at her in surprise, but only adjusted the arm he had around her to a better position, and began concentrating on the food.

When he began blowing on a spoonful of stew to cool it, both Varric and Hawke shifted uncomfortably.

"Perhaps we should go look for that thing," Varric suggested.

"Oh. Yes. The thing. The thing is very important," Hawke agreed, tone quite serious. 

"So, we'll go look for the thing," Varric told the two on the bed. "If you need us, just give a shout."

Neither seemed to notice.

Varric and Hawke left, Varric shutting the door behind him.

"Just what is going on with those two?" Hawke asked, mystified.

"You tell me and we'll both know," Varric told her. "But I think we'll be the only ones that do."

"Has he been like this the whole time?"

Varric snorted. "Not hardly. He's been worse than usual, actually. Nearly killed her on a couple of occasions."

"Then what on Thedas happened?"

"I have no idea. We saw her markings in action, and suddenly he's falling all over himself. He hasn't even threatened to maul anyone yet today."

A mischievous light was in her eyes. "Keep me informed, will you?"

"You're leaving?"

"No reason for me to stay," she said, retrieving her staff and other belongings. "She's awake. The bandages will be fine until tomorrow afternoon, unless the bleeding gets out of hand again. I'll come back then. It was getting…a little intimate in there."

"Very strange. But hey, why don't I stand you to a drink at the Blooming Rose? They've apparently gotten a new shipment of some very fine Orlesian reds in."

"I think I'd like that," she said. "And it's not like I have anything to really go home to at the moment…" She paused for a moment, then fixed her eye on Varric. "Forget I said that."

"I will. For now."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Fenris has an unusual dream, causing him to make a decision regarding Odette. Aveline informs him of a strange rumor.

  


 

#  Chapter 9

"You must eat," he urged, bringing the spoon to her lips. With a grimace she obeyed, and he readied another.

"Why didn't you kill me?" she asked him in a trembling voice.

"Because I did not desire to. Now eat."

"You should have."

"A martyr?" he demanded with scorn. "That is unlike you."

"You do not know me!" she suddenly flared. "Not anymore! You haven't since—" she choked off.

"What is this sudden wish for death?"

"Because you have seen me!" she cried. "You have seen…" she held up her hands, swathed in bandages. "I am not possessed, but I am an abomination all the same. You saw what I did to those men…" Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she flinched as their salt hit the lacerations inscribed into her chin, where Hawke hadn't been able to get the bandages to fit well. "You saw what I have been trying so hard to hide."

"Do you despise me for my markings? For what I can do with them?"

"No, of course not."

"Then at least allow me the opportunity to show you I am not without common empathy. Despite my past actions."

With a determined effort, she nodded and dashed the tears away, swallowing hard. Then she opened her mouth, waiting for another bite.

"What do you remember about last night?" Fenris asked her, once she had indicated she had eaten her fill. He leaned over and placed the half-empty bowl on the side table, and she moved with him. She was warmer than he would have thought, clad only in the bandages that Hawke had fastidiously wrapped around her, neck to heel. It was unsettling and comfortable at the same time.

"I remember…" she was saying slowly, staring at her hands. "I remember men, trying to take me away. Youkilled one, told me to escape. And then I…killed the rest." She shuddered. His arm involuntarily tightened around her.

"If you hadn't, I would have," he told her. "Think nothing of their deaths."

"Now do you see?" she asked him. "Now do you see why I was so frantic to stay away from you? I never wanted you to see me like this! Not you."

"What I see is someone inflicted with the same tortures visited upon me," he said. "Perhaps even worse ones. I should never have assumed you, of all people, were my enemy."

"But I am your enemy." Her hands, which had been twisting in the bedclothes, tightened to fists. "They made me that. You have seen what I become. What he turned me into. I was to be used against you. To capture you and return you to the Imperium. For study. For use. Corvinus' use."

"Then you are a poor weapon indeed, as you pose no threat to me."

She remained silent.

"Your markings…"

" _Opus sanguinus_ ," she murmured.

"Work of blood," he said, the words like sewage in his mouth. "This is not your fault. I know that."

"I should have walked out of the city after I ran into you in the Bazaar. I should never have stayed."

"Odette, look at me."

"No!"

"Odette."

Slowly, her gaze rose, until hopeless grey eyes locked with amber.

"There. You see? We are both fine."

Her eyes dropped and she heaved a sigh. "For now."

"I learned to control mine, you will learn to control yours."

"No. No. I have to get away from you. You are in danger every second I am near."

"I trigger your markings, I know that. And they are fearsome indeed. But even when you forgot nearly everything else yesterday in the Cellar, you did not forget me. Or Varric. You will not hurt us."

"You saw how those men died. My very blood turned into a weapon. To capture you." She squirmed against him, trying to shrug her way out from under his arm, free herself from the covers. 

"Now, stop that," he admonished, tightening his hold the barest bit and easily holding her in place. "You are not leaving until I say you are leaving. You're not strong enough yet."

"Then it is the perfect time for me to leave, then," she said, struggling a bit harder. It amazed him how little it took to hold her. She fluttered like a trapped bird against him.

"I said stop that," standing, he pressed her firmly down, jerking the bedclothes back up nearly to her eyes. He stuffed the edges under the mattress, effectively pinning her. Her eyes were a mixture of fear and disbelief at the near whimsical method of imprisoning her as they looked at him over the satin trim. "I have to get something. Can I trust you to stay put?"

A flare of indignation, then exasperation. She nodded.

He smiled and moved to the herb pouch he had bought earlier that day in the Gallows. Inside it were a few dozen packets, each neatly labeled. Taking a mug, he poured hot water into it from a kettle next to the fire, then tore open one of the pouches and shook the contents into it. 

"Here. Drink," he said, returning to her and loosening the bedclothes.

"What is it?"

"You slept but got no rest. This will help."

She shifted to sit up and once again he helped her, bringing the cup to her lips. She wrinkled her nose at the taste, but drank it all down.

"There. See how much more pleasant it is when you listen to your benefactor?" he asked her, helping her lie back down and adjusting the covers, a little less tight this time.

"I thought you would have more questions."

"I most certainly do. But they will keep until tomorrow."

"Why are you helping me? To such an extent?" There was an odd inflection in her voice, and when he looked down at her, he saw trepidation and…hope?

"I will not pity you," he finally told her. "But I will not abandon another victim of the Magisters. You are no warrior. You would not stand a chance on your own. I and my friends will tend to you until you are able to yourself."

That faint hope flickered and died at his answer, but all she said was, "I see."

"What is it you want from me?" he demanded, sudden irritation rising inside him. "What answer was I to provide?"

She flinched. "I seek no answers from you."

"Now you return to the lie," he said. "You will tell me."

"Not now," she said, fighting to keep her eyes open. The concoction was working swiftly.

"Then when?"

"When we are…free…" a soft snore ended the reply.

He stared at her a moment, then left the room. When he returned, he had two dusty bottles of wine. Sitting down in a chair by the fireplace, he opened one and took a long draught. The other he set next to his feet.

He had meant to remain vigilant, but the frequent use of his own markings and how long he had gone without proper rest caught up to him. He had nearly finished the bottle when it slipped from his limp grasp, falling to the floor and spilling the remaining contents.

_"This is Odette. She is for you." The woman was draped in a floor length cloak, a deep cowl obscuring her features as she stood next to him._

_"For me? I do not understand, master."_

_"You have served me well, defeating my enemies so readily. I am pleased."_

_"That is enough for me, master. I ask nothing but your approval."_

_"Of course. But I am a benevolent master, and I reward services done well. Take her. She is yours for the night. Your duties have been suspended until eleventh bell tomorrow morning."_

_"Master…I…"_

_"You do not desire her, then?" With a smirk, Danarius reached out and pulled off the cloak._

_The petite elven maiden stood as was proper, eyes downcast, hands folded before her. Her long golden hair, tinged with copper, tumbled in curls past bare shoulders to her waist. Her heart-shaped face had sensual features, full pink lips, feathery brows arching over wide eyes thick with lashes. The simple silken shift she wore was high-necked and floor-length, but the sheer fabric clung to her curves, revealing more than it hid. She was remarkably voluptuous, both for being an elf and for her slender frame._

_For the first time he could remember, desire erupted inside of him. The debaucheries he'd been part of, with Danarius, and with Danarius' allies, had been mechanical, another duty to perform for his master. But this woman…he wanted her. So swift and so abrupt was the reaction it made his head swim, his breath quicken in time with the pounding of his heart._

_"I want her," he said simply._

_"Of course you do," Danarius said, eyes full of knowledge. "Take her, then. Just be sure to return her in one piece. She does not belong to me. But I will heal any damage you feel like meting out in your pleasure so long as it stops short of anything permanent. Go to him, my dear, and service him until he is sated."_

_"Yes, Magister," she murmured, dropping an excruciatingly proper curtsey. Fenris' gaze followed the grace of her limbs, how her anatomy shifted and swayed._

_Danarius nodded, face cruel with some hidden amusement, then he turned and left the two alone._

_"Come," Fenris said, holding out a hand. It shook slightly._

_She took it, looking up at him. Her touch set his blood racing, but the luminous grey eyes caused a twitch of something in his head that had nothing to do with his rising lust._

_"Do I…know you?" he asked her._

_"Perhaps you have seen me at my master's," she said, eyes never leaving his. There was nearly a beseeching quality to them, as if she were begging him._

_"I do not know. Who is your master?"_

_"Magister Corvinus."_

_"Then it is doubtful. The time spent at Corvinus' is spent in the study of my markings, guarding my master, or…other pursuits where individuals are generally not noticed. Perhaps you have been a participant?"_

_"No. My master does not wish me to join in such affairs. He prefers to use me in more intimate settings."_

_"Then it is impossible. And yet…" he drew her to him, and she offered no resistance._

_"Yes?" she asked, breathless, resting her free hand on his chest. "Do you—"_

_A sudden, sharp pain spiked through his head. The faint recognition faded. His fingers closed tightly around hers, and he jerked her to him._

_"Enough of such imaginings," he growled. "Talking is not what I desire from you."_

_"As you say, messere," she said meekly, the plea in her eyes snuffed._

_He was not gentle. He was not kind. Part of him wondered at the sudden anger that filled him. The rest of him simply used her for her intended purpose. Thoroughly._

He snapped awake, the firelight making the shadows leer down at him, dancing in mockery. Night had fallen, and through the window seventh bell rang from the Chantry. Passing a hand over his eyes, he levered himself to his feet and moved over to the bed.

Odette slept quietly, on her side, hands tucked beneath her chin. A tendril of hair had fallen onto her face, and he reached out and softly stroked it back.

"Who are you?" he whispered.

He rarely dreamed. Not real dreams, at any rate. Until he had met Hawke, began adventuring with her, he had assumed that was all they were; the meanderings of his sleeping mind. Then he'd learned the truth. They were flashes of his life, his life before Danarius.

They had been a confusing welter, not in any sort of order, impossible to make sense of, until he had met his sister, Varania. Standing before her, he'd remembered her. Remembered being a child, playing, crying, quarreling. With her. Remembered his mother, humming as she did the wash for her master, Magister Acilius. 

It had been the first clear memory of his time before waking up on the table, blinded by silver blue light, every nerve screaming, every muscle contorted, too wracked with agony even to scream.

The dreams had been persistent since then, but still the same jumble of impressions, voices, places. Half-recognized, tormentingly so.

Then what was that? What was it his mind had produced this time? It had been coherent, and he remembered it with a clarity that rarely lasted upon his waking. His first meeting with Odette. A memory from his time after he'd been turned into a living weapon. A memory he had no problem recalling on his own. He had chosen not to. 

He could not recall having ever had a dream like it. 

He burned as he remembered, the feeling of her beneath him, his mouth on hers, his hands on her skin. But the smolder wasn’t all residual pleasure. He remembered making her cry out, and it was not due to ardor. He remembered causing her tears. He remembered hurting her. Deliberately. Slowly.

And it gratifying him, even as it sickened him. It had held a desperate quality. It was as if she were hurting him, and all he did to her was retribution. But he had never met her before that day. 

"Fenris?"

He returned to himself with a jolt, to find himself leaned over her. His lips were a sigh away from hers, he could feel the soft warmth of her breath from between parted lips, smell the sweetness of her.

There was no fear in her face, only puzzlement.

With a curse he thrust her away from him.

"How can you be so trusting of me?" he snarled. "After all I did to you."

"I don't understand." He heard her, struggling to sit up, but he didn't trust himself to turn around yet.

"I all but tortured you! I took you and I used you for my own pleasure, and I hurt you as I did."

"Not every time. And…" She shrugged. "That was simply how it was. It was Tevinter."

"I realize you had no choice," he grated, storming over and snatching up the other bottle of wine. The cork was stubborn. He smashed the neck of the bottle against the mantel of the fireplace and upended it. Wine flooded down, into his open mouth, over his chin. "Not then. Now you do. I will summon Varric. He will come collect you and take you to the Hanged Man. Or to Hawke's. Anywhere but here. With me."

"As you say, messere."

He flinched, then upended the wine bottle again. 

"Do you simply not care what happens to you? Or is there something wrong with you, that you can't sense fear properly? Did the Magisters," he swallowed. "Did I…break you?"

"No. I am not broken."

"You fear being near me, but you do not fear me. After everything I did. I abused you in Tevinter, I abused you here. I nearly killed you on more than one occasion. And yet you still do not fear."

"That…I do not fear you. Only what you think of me. I do not think I could ever fear you."

His head wrenched around, sudden realization causing him to stare at her, half in disbelief and half in contempt.

"We did break you," he said quietly. "For you to believe you feel this way." Bile scorched up his throat as he understood. He had colluded with the Magisters to make her this way. He had helped. Not intentionally. There had been no grand plan, but his treatment of her had twisted her heart and her affections as surely as the wretched Magisters of the Tevinter Imperium had.

"As you say, messere."

"Stop saying that!"

"As you wish."

"It is not as I wish. What do _you_ wish? You wanted to get away from me. You were desperate to. I am offering that to you now."

"Then I will go," she said, pushing the covers aside and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. 

"What are you doing?"

"You said I could leave. I am doing so."

"No. I said I would send for Varric." He strode across the room and tried to press her back down into the bed. 

"I have recovered much of my strength. I will be fine."

Suddenly she began squirming. Tearing herself out of his grasp she darted for the door. He leaped across the room, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her bodily off the floor. Her quiescent attitude had disappeared, and she thrashed, trying to free herself. It seemed she had suddenly sprouted two more arms and legs as she writhed. 

Staggering across the room, he dumped her back onto the bed, pinioning her wrists above her head.

"That's enough!" he shouted. "You will not overpower me!"

He became all too aware of her as she panted beneath him, chest heaving, her body outlined in the bandages, which Hawke had managed to fit to her like a second skin. Heat radiated off of her, threatening to engulf him.

"And yet you say you are such a great danger to me," he said raggedly, bitterness strongly coloring the words. She stopped struggling as abruptly as she had begun. "You are helpless against me, as you always were."

"You saw what I did. To those men," she said, face averted. "I lose myself when the markings activate. I could—"

"Do nothing. You could not hope to match me."

She covered her face with her hands. "You don't know that. And now—now you know how I feel, what I truly fear—"

Spots of blood began appearing on the bandages.

He released her wrists, then gently took her and lifted her once more, tucking her back into the bed. She kept her hands over her face the entire time.

He took a deep breath.

"You must remain calm," he told her. "The more upset you are, the more you bleed."

She nodded behind her hands.

After getting the covers in place, he reached out and lowered her hands. 

"I am sorry," he said to her. "I must learn to hold my temper around you."

"Why?"

"Because it serves neither of us."

"No, I meant, why did you not let me leave? You bear no responsibility for me, and it is obvious I cause you distress. Just let me go."

"You are not strong enough to go on your own. Wait until morning, then I will let you go wherever you wish."

"Will you."

"Once Varric arrives, I am sure he will accompany you."

"And then I will be gone."

That caused his heart to thump from an unexpected twinge. "Where will you go?"

"Somewhere far away. As far as what coin I have will take me."

"As far away from me as you can go, is what you mean."

"Yes."

"To protect me from you."

"Yes. And…for selfish reasons as well. I do not feel I could stand much more of how you look at me."

"And how is that?"

"With anger. With frustration. With pity."

"Why do you believe you…feel this way?" He asked after a moment, having no answer for her.

"I just do." She spread her hands helplessly. "I just do."

"You are a fool."

"Yes. A great fool. But not so great that I would remain when I am still a threat, no matter how I may feel. I cannot stay where there is no hope for me. Not anymore."

"I told you, you are no threat to me. You will stay. Until the morning, at the very least. I can make you stay. I am acquainted with frightening people, you know. Powerful. Dabblers in forbidden magicks. Even," he leaned forward conspiratorially, lips quirking into a smile. Part of him couldn't believe he was joking about this. He blamed Varric. "An actual abomination."

She gave a helpless little giggle, unable to stop herself. It tinkled like bells.

"You'll stay put until morning?"

"Yes," she sighed. "I will remain. I would not want to annoy your powerful friends."

"That is most wise of you. I am, however, sorry that I woke you. And in such a manner." His ears turned red at the memory of it.

She opened her mouth to reply when someone began hammering on the front door.

Fenris immediately went on guard.

"Your friends?" Odette whispered, as if those outside could hear.

"My friends don't bother with a knock, as I never answer the door."

"Who then?"

"I will find out. Lock the bedroom door behind me. Answer it for no one but me."

She clung to him for the barest second before nodding and releasing him. 

He did not look back as he strode forward, pausing only to make sure she locked the door.

Grabbing his hammer, he made his way downstairs.

"Who calls. Name yourselves," he commanded.

"Captain of the Guard Aveline Hendyr, messere," a woman's voice announced. Loudly. "May I have a moment of your time?"

Brow wrinkling, Fenris unlocked and pulled open the door.

Sure enough, there stood Aveline, resplendent in her captain's armor. Her strong, angular face showed all business, her red hair as usual smoothed back and held in place with a leather band.

"Aveline?"

"Good evening, messere. May I come in?"

Wordlessly, more out of puzzlement than expedience, he took a step back and gestured for her to enter.

"Thank you, messere," she said again, at greater volume than necessary.

He shut the door behind her.

"What was all that about?" he asked her. 

"For anybody watching," she told him, her husky voice hard. "I heard an interesting rumor, and thought it best to come tell you about it in person."

"And what rumor could make you come to my door, at this time of night, letting all and sundry know the Captain of the Guard was paying me a visit? Would you like to go upstairs and take a seat?"

"No, I don't intend to be here long. The rumor I heard is that you are harboring an abomination that slaughtered some Fereldan refugees in Darktown. It was all I could do to keep a straight face. You? Harbor an abomination?"

"And this…ridiculous tale led you here?"

"In part. The rest of the rumor is some Orlesian Templars in town have heard about it and intend to…investigate for themselves."

He raised an eyebrow. "So your little show out there…"

"Was hopefully enough to show them that I have investigated personally and have found you innocent of the claim without any actual official involvement. But they're not from Kirkwall, these Templars. They don't quite understand what invading this particular residence might mean." 

"Amateurs," he snorted scornfully.

She nodded. "Amateurs. Apparently newly raised to knighthood and eager to prove themselves. I thought you should have a heads up."

"And what of our own Kirkwall Templars?"

"They know better. Knight Captain Cullen laughed outright when he heard it. Said it was more likely of the Grand Cleric than of you. They won't get involved…unless you make them."

"They're Orlesian, they have no authority here."

"They're Templars. They have authority wherever the Chantry is, and the Knight Commander has her hands full trying to keep the Circle mages in line and the rest of the city from outright rebellion, she's not going to interfere. All I'm asking is if they do show up, just let them in, let them search, and leave."

"And why would I do such a thing?"

"Because I am asking you to, Fenris."

He pursed his lips, favoring her with a sour glance. "I make no promises, Aveline. I will be civil only insofar as they are."

"I thought you liked Templars. Or at least appreciated what they do."

"I am no mage," he spat. "They have no cause to crawl around me."

"And hopefully they'll understand that before they come here. I just wanted to let you know."

"If they do come, when should I expect them?"

"Any time."

"Very well. I will have a warm welcome for them should they arrive."

"Not too warm. As far as that massacre in Darktown…do you know anything about that?"

"Yes."

"Is it something I need to be concerned about?"

"No."

She nodded again, briskly this time, business concluded. Pulling open the door, she stepped out into the night. 

"Thank you for your cooperation into this matter, messere," she said, back in her bullhorn voice. "I apologize for any inconvenience."

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Just go."

She favored him with a wry grin as she gave him a salute and moved off, more silent than she should have been considering she wore half plate armor.

Bemusedly he shut the door behind her and locked back up, shaking his head. Orlesian Templars suspected him of helping an abomination? A mage possessed by a demon? He had often wondered what he would do if Anders needed help in such a manner. Which would win out, his loyalty to Hawke or his justified hatred?

Hopefully he would never have to find out.

"Odette," he called, standing outside her door. "It's me."

A long moment of silence. He had tensed himself to break down the door when the key finally rattled in the lock and she opened it.

"Apologies. I was under the bed."

She swayed on her feet, but shambled backwards when he moved to support her. She'd also found the clean robes Hawke had scrounged from somewhere and had put them on over the bandages.

"I hadn't realized I was quite so…exposed," she said, slowly climbing back into bed. "I must offer more apologies."

"None required," he said, fighting down the disappointment at her obscured form as she moved.

"Is there trouble?"

"No, no trouble," he told her. A handful of young Templars getting out of hand had not counted as "trouble" to him for many years. "You rest. I'll send word to Varric to be here in the morning."

"Yes," she said faintly. "You should rest as well."

"I will."

A muffled sound, he assumed it was approval. Her strenuous resistance to him and subsequent slithering on the floor must have taxed her, she was asleep in moments.

As for Fenris, he retrieved another bottle of wine and sat in the windowsill next to her bed, watching the stars and trying not to think.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Odette discusses her options for earning coin, and departs with Varric for the Hanged Man.

  


 

#  Chapter 10

"You were so insistent on her staying with you, and now you want me to take her to the Hanged Man?" Varric asked.

"I thought you would be pleased," Fenris replied. They were in the foyer of Fenris' mansion, speaking in low voices. "You never wanted her here to begin with."

"You are the most inconsistent, indecisive…fine, fine. I'll take her away. Now?"

Fenris nodded. "She's eaten, and is ready." He turned to go back up the stairs.

"Before we go up, I wanted to show you something."

"Yes?"

"I made another trip into Darktown, to see if she had any personal belongings in that hovel she was staying in."

"And? Out with it, dwarf."

Varric reached into a pouch, pulling out a small bundle, carefully wrapped in cloth. The bundle itself was no bigger than Varric's fist. The fabric at one point had been fine, but now it was stained and torn. Most of the stains were dark brown.

"That's all she had?"

"She was a slave, Fenris. And was in a shipwreck," Varric reminded him.

"Yes, but…" There was something pathetic about the bundle, although he had come to Kirkwall with not even that much. "What about it."

Varric untied the bundle, revealing another one inside of it. "There was only a single item, actually. Wrapped very well. It seems she treasures it."

More cloth fell away until a small object remained. It was an oval pendant, edged in delicate gold scalloping. Wordlessly, Varric offered it. With some trepidation, Fenris reached out and took it.

It was indeed a pendant, a beautiful ivory carving on a carnelian background. 

It was him. Reproduced in exquisite detail, it was a relief of his own face.

"She had to have had it on her, on the ship. From what she said, she never would have had time to retrieve it," Varric said quietly.

Fenris had seen the evidence of her feelings with his own eyes, heard it with his own ears, but to have physical, tangible proof of her feelings for him was unsettling. 

Then he peered at it more closely.

"I remember this," he said slowly. "It belonged to my mother. She had two, one of Varania and one of me. How did Odette come to get it?"

"I hope that was rhetorical."

Fenris shot him a look. "It was. This was commissioned by Magister Acilius, a gift he would bestow for work that pleased him. My mother…she had one of me, one of Varania, and one of my father."

"That's the first time I've ever heard you mention him."

"He died when I was young. Even without this accursed interference, I don't think I would have many memories of him."

"You're not angry?"

"No. Why would I be?"

"You're not serious. Not two days ago the thought of Odette knowing about your past made you frantic," Varric said incredulously. 

"I was not 'frantic'. You are exaggerating."

"Have it your way. You were mildly upset, how's that? So mildly upset you fractured her arm and broke some of her ribs."

"That was because I believed her to be a harbinger of Corvinus."

"Uh-huh. I know my legs aren't that long, but they aren't going to get any longer from you pulling them."

Fenris' fingers closed around the cameo. "I will return this to her."

"You're giving her a memento of your time together before you exile her. How sweet."

"What would you have me do?" Fenris demanded. "She wishes to go, I cannot keep her here."

"You could, I don't know, try talking to her?" Varric suggested. "She's leaving for two reasons, and both of them have to do with you. She doesn't want to hurt you, or worse."

"She can't kill me," Fenris snorted. "Corrupted markings or no, she is not strong enough."

"I wasn't talking about your death."

"What then? What could be worse for her than her killing me?"

"You hating her."

"Ridiculous," scoffed the elf. "You're letting your imagination run away with you again."

"Whatever you say. But you don't seem to be surprised by her feelings for you."

"I discovered them myself last night."

"Oh?" Varric's eyes brightened with interest. "Did you? And?"

"And what?"

"And what happened? I swear, getting you to see the romance of a situation is like trying to get a nug to sing the Chant. And dance. At the same time."

"Nothing happened."

"You have a beautiful, vulnerable maiden all to yourself, revealing feelings she's harbored for you all this time, and nothing happened? Are you sure you like both men _and_ women? Isabela wasn't some sort of drunken mistake?"

"The feelings are not real. I saw it many times in Tevinter. A moment of perceived kindness and even the most brutalized can believe they have an affection for someone. No matter how…ruthless all other treatment is."

"And were you ruthless to her?" Varric asked quietly.

Fenris just turned on his heel and left to go back upstairs, but he tucked the cameo into his belt as he walked away.

Shaking his head, Varric followed a moment later.

When he entered the room, Fenris was standing before the fire, one arm braced against the mantle as he stared down into the flames. Odette was sitting up in the bed, the remains of breakfast (leftover stew) on the table next to her.

"Good morning, Rosie," Varric greeted her.

"Good morning, Varric," she murmured. She looked much, much improved over the last time he had seen her. Color had returned to her cheeks, and the dark shadows beneath her eyes had lessened to the faintest of stains. The fear and despair that had left her wan and drawn had largely faded as well, and that, coupled with the bloom of her skin, made her quite lovely. 

There was still fatigue, and pain, but the bewildered loss had been replaced by sad determination. She had made up her mind that leaving was for the best, and nothing was being done to change her mind.

"Ready to go to the Hanged Man? I have some lovely rooms set up for you. I think you'll be comfortable until your strength is fully recovered. While you rest, we will take care of the arrangements for your departure."

"Will it be very difficult? I don't have much coin."

"Much coin?" he admonished teasingly. She ducked her head with a sheepish grin.

"I don’t have any coin. Although I have…certain skills. I can earn any I might need. I also owe you for all this," a hand flittered over her other arm, indicating the robes and the bandages beneath. "And for the healer you took me to, as well."

"No need to worry about the healer," Varric assured her. "We have something of a barter system with him. But, certain skills?"

"I was a pleasure slave in the Imperium," she reminded him lightly. "The need for such services are the same anywhere, I believe."

"No." Fenris said, turning from the fireplace. 

"Fenris…"

"You are not a slave anymore, Odette. We will find something else."

"Youare a warrior, Fenris. Your strength is your sword arm and might. Even without the _opus artis_ you have a ready means to support yourself. I have no such ability. I must learn to care for myself, using my own strengths. The sating of others is that strength. It will do until I can learn another craft."

"I forbid it."

She laughed, but it was a melancholy sound, wind chimes in the rain. "You forbid? You?"

He flushed, the rush of red flooding up his throat to his hairline, deep shame contorting his face.

"And who would desire you?" he said scathingly. "With those wounds covering every inch of you. Such a fine partner you would make, bleeding as you cavort in bed with strangers."

"Fenris!" Varric exclaimed. Rosie flinched as if Fenris had slapped her.

The elf gave him a distracted, wide-eyed look of furious confusion, then strode from the room.

"That impossible idiot," Varric muttered. "And once again I find I have to apologize for that oaf. Odette, don't listen to him."

"Put your mind at ease," she said, composed, although there was the barest hint of a tremor in her voice. "He is right. And wrong. There is a market for my…peculiar nature as well. There is a market for anything with that type of commerce."

She shoved aside the covers and got to her feet. Reaching out, she retrieved her boots and gloves and slid into them. 

"I am ready, Varric."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"You don't even want to say goodbye?"

"I will be at the Hanged Man until I can leave Kirkwall altogether."

"But you won't see him."

"Not unless there is a clear reason."

"Are you sure about this, Rosie?"

"Yes. I will burden him no longer."

He nodded and gave a flourishing gesture to indicate she should lead the way out.

Pulling up her cowl, she swept out of the room without a backwards glance.  



	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Fenris and Varric seek out those searching for Odette, Sebastian lending a hand.

#  Chapter 11

"We're supposed to look for a crown," Varric reminded Fenris as they made their way to the Docks that evening.

"I remember, dwarf," Fenris retorted, voice sharp.

"Hey, what'd I do?"

"Nothing," the elf said shortly.

"Just because she didn't want to see you, don't take it out on me."

"I'm not taking anything out on you. Why should it matter if she would see me or not?"

When Fenris had shown up at the Hanged Man to rendezvous for the Docks, Varric met him in the main room. The elf's awkwardness trying to figure out how to ask to see Odette without asking to see Odette had been painful to watch. Varric had thought it would be amusing, but it was just depressing. Not as bad as Aveline's courtship of her husband, but close.

"So who do you think this duke could be?" Varric asked, deeming it time for a change of subject.

"Someone from Tevinter," Fenris said. "Hopefully it's Corvinus."

"Hopefully it's not," Varric rejoined. "It's just the two of us, with no magical backup here. If it is the Magister, I think it would be best to beat a hasty retreat before we become distinctly unable to."

"You would run from a Magister?" Fenris asked with disdain.

"Well, yes. Anyone in their right mind would when they're outmatched."

"I will not tuck my tail and flee from a Magister."

"I did say anyone in their right mind."

"So we run, what then? Give him time to build his forces? His power base? No. Whomever we encounter, be it Magister or slaver, they die this night."

"This isn't about you taking out Magisters anymore, is it, elf."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're trying to make it safe for Odette, take out the people trying to capture her."

"No. The benefits to her are merely a side effect, I assure you."

"Well, after we finish up whatever it is we're going to encounter, do you want me to take that cameo back?"

"Whatever for?"

"You said you were going to give it back to her. Then you skedaddled after being incredibly rude and didn't get the chance. I can return it to her if you like."

"I…did not bring it with me."

"Then I'll go to your mansion and get it. You said you wanted to return it," Varric reminded him again.

"I reconsidered. It belonged to my mother. Therefore it is mine. She has no right to it."

Now real anger flashed in Varric's eyes, and he reached out, grabbing Fenris' arm and hauling him to a stop.

"All right, elf. I think I've had just about enough."

"Release me, dwarf."

"In a moment. Your head's not in the game, and that could get me killed. On top of that, I am very, very tired of your selfish, whiny attitude of late."

"What." Fenris' voice was flat, dangerous. Varric ignored it.

"I know you're not used to dealing with all these emotions. I get that. It's only been a few years since you escaped Tevinter and all the horrors they heaped on you, and only a few months since you killed Danarius. Your memories, what you have of them, are far from pleasant and your markings are a constant reminder of what you went through. But you have got to stop taking it out on her when you get confused."

"You're imagining things."

"And you're being a brat."

"A brat?" Fenris barked.

"You hear something you don't like, or are confronted with, or think it, and you turn on everyone around you. Honestly, I don't know how Hawke's put up with it all this time. Or how I have, truth be told. You don't want Odette around, I get that. So does she. But you are outright cruel to her. Her road's been as difficult as yours. More in some ways. Can't you think of her every once in a while instead of yourself?"

Fenris stared down his nose at the dwarf, muscles twitching.

"She loves you," Varric added softly. "And you're destroying her."

"You don't understand," Fenris sneered. "I have already destroyed her. Only someone perverted by the Imperium could ever think they could love me. You have no idea of how I treated her, of what I did to her. If she is ever truly going to be free, she needs to understand that what she feels is not real. It's the delusions of a mind twisted by torment and agony."

"And more malice will help her to be free?"

"Yes! No…I—I can't face her and remain calm. There is something about her that provokes me, goads me into—into being this monster. It's best she sees me that way. As the monster."

"And what happens to the monster, after the maiden is free?"

"The monster goes on, as it has always done," Fenris replied, shoulders slumping. "Surviving."

"Only surviving?"

"Only that. It's what monsters do. They must learn not to expect more."

"Fenris…"

"Enough of this. We lose the night. Let's get this over with."

He turned on his heel and continued into the Docks, Varric on his heels, trying to figure out what to do about the two elves.

They wended their way through the Docks, brightly lit by a gibbous moon reflecting off the water. The only others about at this time were refugees, not just Fereldan, but those left homeless from the Qunari invasion, and people who hurried by on clandestine business of their own. 

The air icy between the two, they began searching.

After about an hour, Varric motioned Fenris over.

"I think this is it."

Freshly carved into the lintel of a warehouse was a three pointed crown.

Fenris pursed his lips. "Warehouse again. Doesn't ever anyone ever use them to store anything anymore?"

"Let me take the lead," Varric said. "There may be traps."

"I know how it works. And you might as well say it now."

"We should have brought Hawke."

"Feel better now?"

"Not in the slightest."

"What's the plan?"

"Plan? Are we using plans now? When did we start doing that? Usual procedure. Follow my lead."

Varric pushed open the door and cautiously stuck his head in, looking around. 

"I don't see anything." He stepped in, Bianca at the ready. Behind him, Fenris pulled the hammer off his back.

They made their way through the warehouse. It was not completely dark, night lamps here and there relieved the gloom somewhat. They stuck to the plentiful shadows, moving quietly, listening for any sound.

"Stop where you are."

The voice caused them to pause, straightening. It was male, deep, authoritative. Varric shot a questioning glance at Fenris, who shook his head and shrugged. It wasn't Corvinus, although the accent was decidedly Tevinter. They were still alone in the room. Some sort of magical ward then, designed just to detect, not damage. Otherwise Varric would have found it.

"I don't see the girl."

"And you won't," Varric said. "Not until we see the money."

"That wasn't the deal."

"Well, since we have what you want, and we're willing to bet that others are interested too, let's renegotiate."

A moment of silence, then, "You're not Fereldan. Where is Rogal?"

"Rogal started suffering chest pain. We left him behind."

Another pause.

"Keep going until you enter the main storage area. I'll show you what you want there."

"So glad to be in business with reasonable men."

They continued on, through the side rooms until they got to the larger, central room that had an open pier into the water. They were standing on a landing overlooking the floor, where a dozen men stood, their back to the water. Most were in leathers with decent, but not great weapons. One was in full plate, helm obscuring his visage. Three wore robes and carried staves.

One of the robed figures saw them. His cowl was down, showing a clean shaven, square jawed man, head shaved. His dark eyes watched them intently. In front of him was a large chest.

"Here is your payment," the man said, leaning down and throwing open the lid. Bright gold gleamed in the dim light.

Varric gave a low whistle. 

"That's a lot of money. Isn't that a lot of money?"

"That is a lot of money," Fenris agreed.

"More than adequate for one little elf girl."

"Perhaps. She's given us quite a lot of trouble, though."

"That she has, that she has. I think we deserve to know at least who she is for our trouble. Along with the money, of course."

"You have no reason to know that, mercenary. All the reasons you need are in this chest, here."

The leather clad men began moving towards the stairs. Varric trained Bianca on the one in the lead.

"Tsk, tsk, boys. Not a good idea. Bianca gets cranky when she hasn't had her beauty sleep."

The armored man's head cocked to one side.

"Bianca?" The voice was familiar, even though it was distorted by the helm.

"Do you know me?" Varric asked as Fenris drifted towards the stairs himself.

"One moment," the man said, voice muffled by the helm. Gauntleted hands reached up and wrestled with it for a moment. It fell to the ground with a clang. Gauntlets, pauldrons, and breast plate quickly followed. "Bloody helm. Can't see anything. Can't hear anything."

"What is this?" the robed man cried.

"Just a moment, Secullus. I hate this blasted armor. Never knew how the Templars could stand wearing it."

"Sebastian?" Varric asked, disbelief strong in his voice.

"Aye. Odd place for a reunion, isn't it? Sorry I didn't recognize you," he said, reaching behind him into a stack of crates and pulling out a longbow and a quiver full of arrows. "I blame the helm. It's like wearing a tankard on your head."

"What in the Maker's name are you doing here?"

"Just trying to clear up a bit of trouble for my cousin," Sebastian, abdicated heir to the throne of Starkhaven, priest of the Chantry said, clear blue eyes calm with their standard twinkle. Soft brown hair, normally casually raked back from his forehead, was plastered to his skull with sweat. 

"What is going on, Sebastian?" the robed man, Secullus demanded angrily.

"I said just a moment, Secullus," Sebastian repeated in his lilting brogue, with a gentle smile. "We will be with you in a wee bit."

Flustered, Secullus fell silent before Sebastian's quiet, congenial authority.

"Your cousin? The one that took the throne?" Varric asked, Bianca never wavering from the man on the stairs. Fenris now stood at the top, hammer in both hands, glaring down at the men. They exchanged glances and took a step back as a whole.

"Aye. He seems to be having a bit of trouble with slavers at the moment, and I thought I'd see what I could do about it." He gestured to Secullus. "He was leading me to them, although of course he didn't know that until now."

"You could have asked for help, you know."

"Och, didn't see why I'd need to for some paltry little fish like this." He looked down at the tumble of armor at his still-mailed feet. "So much for my clever disguise."

"Enough!" Secullus roared, finally returning to his senses. "Kill them!"

In response, Sebastian smoothly nocked an arrow and shot him in the knee. He moved so quickly that even Varric saw nothing but a blur of motion. Secullus went down with a howl. 

The men at the bottom of the stairs gave a variety of battle shouts and rushed up the stairs, to be met by Fenris, illuminated in blue-white light, leaping into the air and coming down in the center of them, hammer slamming down with enough force to scatter them like a handful of rye.

Bianca whipped around and targeted one of the robed men on the floor heading for Sebastian. A snap and a whistle and he sprouted a crossbow bolt from between his eyes.

"How many do you need alive?" Sebastian shouted over the din of combat, backing away and sending another arrow into the thigh of the other robed man who had raised his staff. Crackling energies died away as the man dropped to the ground, clutching his leg and swearing.

"Just Secullus will do, I think," Varric called back, Bianca singing in his hands.

"I can manage that! So what do you need them for?" Sebastian asked conversationally, spinning and clubbing a slaver over the head with his heavy bow before drawing another arrow and shooting it into the belly of yet another.

"Long story!"

"After this we'll share a pint and you can tell me all about it!"

"You? A pint?"

"Of water, of course!"

"Of course!"

It didn't take the trio long to mop up the rest of the slavers, and soon they had Secullus propped up against a wall, glaring daggers at them.

"Sorry about the deception, Secullus," Sebastian said, yanking out the arrow in the man's knee and pulling out some bandages. He didn't seem to notice how the man yowled and jerked. "But you see, I didn’t think I would find anything out about the slavers in Starkhaven if I had just asked. You know how it goes."

"Burn," Secullus spat, panting. "You will all burn for this. You have no idea who you're up against. What you're up against."

"Then why don't you enlighten us?" Varric asked. Fenris loomed over his shoulder.

"The Wolf…" Secullus breathed, eyes transfixed on Fenris.

"You know me?" he demanded.

"Everyone in Tevinter knows of the rabid Wolf, who turned on his rightful master and savaged him like a beast."

"I am what my master made me," Fenris replied, face wrought with irony. "He should have realized my nature. Now, I think we should talk." He went to a knee beside the man, staring him in the face. The man blanched and tried to wriggle away, but Sebastian gave his knee a squeeze, and he froze with a keen of pain.

"Oops. So sorry about that, Secullus."

"Tell me about the girl," Fenris said.

"She is the rightful property of Magister Corvinus. I was only sent to collect her."

"Except you're in the Free Marches," Sebastian said. "And the Free Marches doesn't recognize people as property."

"I cannot speak as to how backwards this place is, I can only tell you what I know."

"So Corvinus lives?" Fenris asked.

"Y-yes."

"Ah, did I detect a note of hesitance in the man's voice?"

"I know I did, Varric. He couldn't be lying about this, could he? To a priest? For shame." He paused for a moment, considering. "Of course, he didn't know I was a priest. But that's still no excuse for falsehoods."

"Tell me, slime," Fenris pressed. "Is he alive or no?"

Sebastian jammed a thumb into the man's kneecap.

"He's dead! Corvinus is dead!"

"Then why are you here collecting his…property, then?"

"For his heir."

"And who is his heir?"

"I—I—"

Abruptly his teeth came together so fast they could hear the click. He stared at them with anguished eyes.

"Tell me," Fenris persisted. "Who is his heir?"

The man grunted and thrashed, but his mouth remained firmly shut. Terror washed over his features.

"He is geased," Sebastian said. "He can't tell us."

"He's what?" Varric asked, looking at Secullus as if examining a particularly interesting species of insect.

"Someone cast an enchantment on him. He literally cannot speak of it. Blood magic."

"Can it be broken?" Varric inquired.

"That depends on the strength of the caster and how far they're willing to go to keep their secrets. I'm sure Anders could break it, but it might kill Secullus here.

"It will," Fenris said grimly. "Magisters see people like him as disposable tools."

"Hm…so we can't ask about the identity of his employer…can you tell us about the girl?" Varric asked.

The man's shoulders sagged in relief as he nodded. "Yes," he said in a great exhalation. "I can tell you some."

"Speak."

"We received word in Tevinter that Corvinus' ship had gone down off the coast, near Kirkwall. I was dispatched to find anyone I could, and salvage any property I could find. Especially the girl."

"By this employer you cannot speak of."

He nodded, sweat running down his face, but no one missed the flash of contempt and disgust at the mention of his employer.

"And you don’t like this employer of yours. This heir of Corvinus."

He opened his mouth to hotly retort, but again his teeth sealed his tongue.

"How many other bands of people like you did they send?" Varric asked. "And where are they?"

"I don't know. I was not told, and I have seen no others."

"How many are left of your expedition?"

"This was…all I had," he said, looking around at his dead and dying men.

"So few?"

"The girl wasn't supposed to give us this much trouble. She's always been an obedient slave. I thought I would just have to get her to me and she would return willingly. I thought the most trouble I would have would be any lowlifes who found her and wanted to use her for themselves."

"But that wasn't the case," Fenris said flatly.

"No. It wasn't." He shook his head. "She will be reconditioned when she is returned to Tevinter. I have already sent word on it." 

"What is she?" Varric asked.

Secullus gave a helpless shrug. "A slave. A pleasure slave. I don't know why so many resources are being used to retrieve her. I was simply told to find her, eliminate anyone who might be with her, and return her."

"And they told you no more than that?"

"She was to be unharmed. Well…not so harmed that magic could not heal her. She is very attractive. I was told I and my men could use her for her intended purpose."

Sebastian drew back at this, face darkening. "Her intended purpose?"

"Elves are attractive to humans for one reason, and one reason only. They are to be used for pleasure. It's the natural order." Arrogance once more settled over him. "Tevinter wants her back, and they will keep sending us until she is returned to her rightful owner. More are coming, and they will continue to come until he is returned. Do whatever you want to me."

"Since you asked so nicely," Fenris said, raising his hammer.

"Fenris, wait!"

"What is it, Sebastian," Fenris said in a low voice, his gaze never leaving Secullus, who cowered away from him."

"Even this man may find redemption in the eyes of the Maker. I know what he is, and what he has done, but murdering him is not the way."

"It is for me."

The hammer came crashing down.

Sebastian jumped to his feet. "You killed him in cold blood."

"I know what I did. I am not a fool."

"And what of these others?" Sebastian asked, gesturing to the four who yet lived, huddled together, trying to remain unnoticed. "Will you simply kill them, too?"

"Of course," Fenris said. "Slaving is a capital offence in Kirkwall. I'm just saving the city time and gold."

"Let the guard take them. Let them face trial. They should at least be able to defend themselves."

"Which they did. Poorly. Which is why we are standing and they are not. Step aside, Sebastian."

"The Maker did not have you go through what you went through so you could become the mindless killer the Magisters tried to mold you into," Sebastian said softly, moving in between Fenris and the wounded. "You are better than this, my friend."

"What do you know of what I went through?" Fenris snarled. "You say such pretty words, but they are meaningless to me. The Maker abandoned the children of Tevinter."

"No, he hasn't," Sebastian replied. "You are just unable to hear him. The sound of your own pain and wrath drowns him out. But he is still there. You can find him."

"If I am so important to him, if they are so important to him," Fenris said, nodding at the men with a short, sharp jerk of his head. "Then he will intervene. Shouldn't you have faith in that, priest?"

"Perhaps I am the instrument the Maker has chosen for that intervention," Sebastian said quietly, reaching back for an arrow and nocking it with slow, sure movements. "Because you will not slaughter these helpless men without having to kill me as well."

"Get out of my way, Sebastian."

"I cannot. I am sorry."

"Move!"

Sebastian just looked at him with sad eyes as he raised his bow and pulled the string.

"You would kill me to save these maggots?"

"I would kill you to keep you from staining your soul any more than you already have. Death in battle, against a matched foe is one thing. Cold blooded murder is another. I am not doing this to save them, Fenris."

"Death is death."

"Not for the one dealing it."

Fenris stared at him for a long moment, before whirling away and storming back up the stairs. Sebastian released a sigh of relief and lowered the bow.

"Would you have really shot him?" Varric asked.

"I would have had to if he had advanced. You know as well as I do if he had determined to kill these men, he would indeed have killed me to do it."

"Don’t hold it against him, Sebastian," Varric said, clapping the man on the shoulder. "He's had a rough few days."

"I sensed that he angrier than usual. Does it have to do with this girl?"

"Oh yes. Come on, let's get these fine fellows to the guard and I'll tell you all about it."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Varric informs Sebastian of the goings on, and discusses Isabela's payment with her. Plans are made for Odette.

  


 

#  Chapter 12

"And that's the tale so far, my friend," Varric said. They were once more at the Hanged Man, Fenris sitting with his legs jutting out, arms crossed as he slouched back in his chair, his drink untouched. Sebastian and Varric were properly at the table, mugs before each of them.

"That poor creature," Sebastian murmured. "And she is here?"

"Yes, but she's a little shy." He gave Fenris a significant glance, and Sebastian's eyebrows raised in speculative surprise.

"Understandably so. She must not have a lot of trust to hand out to anyone," he mused.

"That's an understatement."

"Stumbling into Kirkwall, lost, alone, no real ability to protect herself other than these horrific markings…" Sebastian continued sympathetically. "After a shipwreck, being tossed about on the waves for Maker knows how long. Not knowing how to care for herself after years as a slave, her first taste of freedom amidst such overwhelming events. I can't imagine what that must have been like."

Fenris shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"I suppose one would have had to have been a slave in order to truly understand how helpless she must have been." Sebastian went on. "Her entire world, just gone in a storm at sea. Nothing familiar, the fear of returning, the fear of not returning…She must have been living with terror as a close friend."

"I get what you're trying to do, priest," Fenris growled.

"Me? What am I trying to do?" he asked, all over innocence.

For an answer Fenris just stood and lurched to the bar.

"What a mess," Sebastian sighed, shaking his head.

"You can say that again."

"It's about time you lot showed back up," Isabela's voice came to them as she came down the short flight of stairs that led to the rooms. "I've been here for hours."

"And not at the bar, trying to sucker poor marks into playing Wicked Grace with you?"

"Not in the mood. I was chatting with Martin in the back. Hello, Sebastian," she said, taking Fenris' chair and picking up his untouched mug of ale. Sebastian shifted in his seat, but nodded politely, clearing his throat. Isabela had a habit of being at her bawdiest in front of the pious man. She didn't take that tack this time. "I didn't know your little poppet was dangerous, Varric."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean that you could have told me that she'd single-handedly slaughtered over a dozen bandits shortly after making shore, that's what I mean."

"I didn't know," he said, face troubled. "How did you find out?"

"There was a survivor. He told me lots of interesting things. Particularly about this little elven maid they had fished out of the water. Apparently they thought she was pretty, and being the gentlemen they are, they began to woo her."

"She didn't appreciate the attention."

"Not in the least," Isabela said, taking a long pull off the mug. "The man I found was all but mad and foaming at the mouth by the time he started speaking of it. He'd never seen an abomination before."

"She's not an abomination," Fenris snarled. "And you're in my chair."

Reaching out with one shapely leg, she hooked a nearby chair with her foot and dragged it over. "There. Problem solved. But if she's not an abomination, what is she?"

"She's…like me." Fenris said, pulling the chair she'd retrieved over and sitting in it.

"Your markings don't surround men with blood and tear them apart all on their own. Which is exactly what he said she did."

"She's like Fenris, but with the added bonus of blood magic fused into her markings," Varric told her. "Double whammy."

Isabela gave a low whistle. "That sounds very unpleasant."

"It is."

She cocked her head at Fenris in curiosity. "So you've seen it? In action, I mean."

His lips tightened and he gave a jerky nod.

"And you lived to tell the tale. Good for you."

"Do you have any useful information?" he demanded.

"Just that every salvager who went to the ship has disappeared," Isabela said. "Word's gone out it's cursed."

"It is," Fenris rumbled. "It belonged to a Magister. They were fools to try and take it. Someone from Tevinter would want it back."

"Someone?" she asked.

"Apparently the Magister who it belonged to, Corvinus, is dead," Varric supplied.

"But someone is still moving and shaking."

"They certainly are. We took out a bunch of slavers trying to recapture her."

"That follows with what I've been hearing. New muscle in town. New goons. Not local, either."

Not local meant not from the Free Marches, and in the last few years, not from Fereldan, either.

"And they're looking for her."

"Seems so. And a few other things. Journals. Notes. Books." She made a face. "Books are trouble, though. I learned my lesson on that score."

"Books…Corvinus' research. Maybe Danarius' , too," Fenris said.

"Do you know how many?" Varric asked her.

"More than two, less than a thousand," she said cheerfully, draining the mug. 

"That's incredibly helpful. Thanks so much."

"I live to serve," she said with a shrug. "And to get another drink. You need anything else?"

"No. Thank you, Isabela."

She stood but did not leave, hovering expectantly.

"Rivaini?" Varric asked, then his mouth snapped shut, and he looked at her with guilt and a little bit of a hunted expression in his eyes.

"Still Rivaini?" she asked. "I told you my price, Varric. You don't want me spreading around that you don't honor your debts now, do you?"

"It's more complicated than just slapping a nickname on you, Isabela. They're special. I can't force it."

She crossed her arms, considering him with a hard stare. He squirmed. "I suppose I should feel flattered that you're putting so much thought into it. But why 'Rivaini', anyway?"

"Because the Rivaini are known to be a witty, shrewd, capable, and handsome people, know how to take care of themselves and anyone else they deem fit to protect. They're also known to be stubborn, intractable, untrustworthy, and oilier than a greased gear. That all fits you to a T."

Faint surprise showed on her face for a moment. "Is that really how you see me?"

"The last few years have dimmed the untrustworthy part."

"But not the stubborn, oily bits?"

"Not even a little."

She snorted. "I suppose if that's how you really see me, then there's no helping it. I'll take the explanation of my nickname as payment instead. You're off the hook, Varric."

Her tone was full of its usual mischievous sarcasm, but she seemed pleased nonetheless. Varric nodded in relief.

"Well, if you need me, you know where to find me."

Varric nodded again and, with a saucy wink at Sebastian she wended her way to the bar.

"Thank the Maker that's over," Varric breathed, then returned to the subject at hand. "It's going to take me a few days to get Rosie out of town. The Templars have really mucked things up for honest business men these days."

"You could take her to the Chantry," Sebastian suggested. "She's a victim. They can care for her. Protect her."

"Under no circumstances will I inflict Templar justice on her," Fenris said firmly. "Particularly not Kirkwall Templars."

"I know that things don't seem so well, but they're doing all they can to defend this city and keep it safe."

"Including letting Orlesian Templars suspect me of harboring an abomination."

"What?" Varric asked. "I hadn't heard this."

"Aveline came to visit me last night," he said. "She told me that someone is spreading a rumor that I'm harboring an abomination. One that killed some Fereldan refugees in Darktown."

"And these Orlesian Templars think they should talk to you about it, is that it?"

Fenris nodded, brows low in irritation.

"No wonder why you're still here. I thought you'd have gone back to your house as soon as we were done," Varric said.

"If no one's home, there's no one to question," Fenris said.

"And Aveline asked you not to hurt them."

"And that."

"They'd have to be from out of town to suspect you, of all people, of hiding an abomination."

"I think covering for one is all my sanity can take," Fenris said.

"I had heard of some Orlesian brothers that were visiting, assessing the situation for the Divine," Sebastian said, rubbing his chin. "Want me to talk to them?"

"No. You'll only make things worse."

"Now that's hardly fair, Fenris," Sebastian said. "I could intercede on your behalf. Explain the situation."

"And you know as well as I do they'd come drag her out by her hair, put her through a mock trial, declare her an abomination, and burn her alive. No. No intercessions."

"They're not all fanatics," Sebastian protested. "Knight Captain Cullen is very reasonable. Particularly if you take into account that he was there at the Circle tower in Fereldan when they were overrun."

"Not all of them are fanatics, but the lunatics that are have positions of power. I will not hand her over to them."

"Then what are you going to do, Fenris?" the priest asked softly. "Go with her to wherever Varric sends her so you can protect her forever?"

"No. I'm going to kill every Tevinter I come across until they understand she is off limits. Permanently. Once she's out of this cesspit of a city, where the Templars aren't so zealous, she'll be safe."

"And then what? She may not be an abomination, but she has the potential to wreak just as much chaos and death from what Varric has told me. She needs guidance, Fenris. Not to be cast out on her own with no idea of what she's doing."

"She won't. She wouldn't."

"Tell that to those Fereldan refugees from Darktown. Or those bandits Isabela just mentioned."

"They deserved it. They were attacking her. She was defending herself."

"So it's all right, so long as she perceives she's defending herself? So long as she's terrified for her life?"

Fenris was silent for a moment. He knew what Sebastian was saying and he couldn't refute it. 

She was a walking time bomb. And whenever she used her power, she ran the chance of killing herself along with whomever she was targeting. When the blood magic took hold, it didn't seem to care whether its host could handle it or not.

"She's dangerous, Fenris," Sebastian said quietly. "Not just to those around her, either."

"No Templars," the elf said, thrusting his jaw out. "No Chantry involvement. No any involvement other than our circle."

"He does bring up a good point," Varric said, giving Fenris a sidelong glance. "Once she leaves, we get her out of Kirkwall, who's to say she doesn't fall prey to someone, taking advantage of her. Or someone falls prey to her. The only danger to her isn't from Tevinter or the Chantry."

"I know that," Fenris said, putting a hand to his forehead. "But what else am I to do? I can't go with her. She will have to figure out how to take care of herself."

"You could go with her," Varric told him. "There's really nothing holding you in Kirkwall."

"No. No…I can't." Fenris' eyes became a tempest of emotions. Guilt stood out the strongest. "You've seen how I am around her. I couldn't."

"How you are around her?" Sebastian asked. Varric hadn't filled him in on Fenris' erratic behavior when it came to Odette.

"Never you mind," the storm stilled, replaced by anger. "It does not concern you."

Sebastian just shook his head. "I am a priest of the Chantry. So naturally I should not abide apostates, abominations, or those who have such power not recognized or contained by the church. That being said, your friend is a person with remarkable magical proclivities. I have heard that there is some mysterious organization that helps such people escape, remain hidden from the eyes of the church. Helps apostates flee the Templars. Of course, I could never condone such a thing, just as I should not abide apostates. But I have heard of it."

Varric's expression became considering. Fenris scowled.

"Perhaps you could use some of your contacts to find someone to help her?" Sebastian continued. "I've heard that this organization helps by training them how to hide themselves, teaches them a craft, to earn for themselves in a respectable, anonymous manner. Of course, it's a mortal sin in the eyes of the Chantry to help those poor, frightened folk who intend no harm, but thankfully it's only a rumor."

"I will go to them," Odette's voice came to them from behind Fenris, who froze. She stood, wrapped in her usual gloves and robes. The cowl was down, but she wore another scarf wrapped around her neck, covering the raw markings on her chin and jaw. "If they will help me, I will go to them."

"Ah, she makes an appearance," Varric said with a welcoming smile. "Rosie, this is our friend Sebastian. Sebastian, our little Rosie."

The priest stood and bowed with a little flourish, one fist pressed over his heart. "My lady. Your loveliness graces us all. I am sorry for the travails you have gone through. Please rest assured I will do all I may to assist you."

"Th-thank you, ser priest," she was obviously surprised, and not a little bit charmed, by the handsome priest's courtesy. Fenris glared at him.

Sebastian offered her the chair next to Fenris, but she gave a little shake of her head. He nodded and retook his own chair.

"The mage underground does seem like the best option," Varric said. "And as they are mages, they'll be able to give you more guidance in how to control your…abilities than anyone else could." He glanced at Fenris, who had subsided into a sulk, slouched down in his chair, arms crossed. "Well, almost anyone else."

"As you say, they are mages. They will seek to take me for their own, but I have no other choice. He is right," she nodded at Sebastian. "I will not survive on my own. And I know how to serve mages."

"They won't," Varric told her. "Not all mages are like the ones from Tevinter. You met Hawke. She's one of the most powerful mages I know, and she has never resorted to blood magic. She also loathes slavery just as much as we do."

"But she is not the one I will be going to."

"No, you'll be going to—" 

"I must go. I have services to attend to," Sebastian said abruptly, standing. "I'm glad I was able to help."

"Of course," Varric said, not surprised at Sebastian's interruption or sudden departure. If he heard anything of substance, say, about a particular apostate in Darktown, he would be honor-bound to act on it. "And if you need any assistance with your cousin's little problem, let me know."

"I will." He gave Fenris a nod, Odette another courtly bow, and left.

"Have a seat, Rosie." She moved and took Sebastian's chair, across from Fenris. Once again she would not look at him. But this time, he wasn't looking at her, either. "After we got you out of the Cellar, we took you to a friend."

"He is no friend of mine," Fenris spat.

Varric sighed. "We took you to an acquaintance. He's the Apostate."

"He's an apostate?"

"No, he's _the_ Apostate. Known for healing the poor and downtrodden in Darktown, and a leading figure in the mage underground. He's one of the other most powerful mages I know. He healed you. Told us what your markings were."

"And he will help me escape? Like the mages?"

"I hope so. It'll be tricky, with the Imperium after you, but he's no fan of the Magisters. I think I can talk him into it"

"You trust him?"

"He's Hawke's lover. She trusts him."

"But do you?"

"I trust him to always do what he thinks is right. And he thinks that mages, and other people with nowhere to go, deserve a helping hand. If he agrees to help you, he will risk everything to do so."

"Very well. I will go to this Apostate."

"I'll arrange it."

"Thank you. Did you learn anything tonight?"

"Corvinus is dead. Died in the wreck."

She sucked in a surprised breathe, eyes widening. "Are you certain?"

"They certainly seemed to be. Do you know anything about his heir?"

"His heir? No, not much. I know that he had recently chosen a new heir, but I don't know who it was."

"Recently? After he found out Danarius was dead recently?"

"Yes. I was…indisposed…" she raised her arms, her reference to the markings clear. "So I was not able to learn much. I do know that it was causing turmoil. I heard his son, Moravius, arguing with him about it."

"That's to be expected."

"Moravius insisted that his choice would bring great shame on the House, that such a thing had never been done before. They would be made outcast because of it. Even stripped of their House charter. Corvinus did not care, he said it was necessary to get his hands on the _opus artis_. He made me, the _opus sanguinus,_ as a bastardized copy of what Danarius had wrought. He thought it would be enough to retake you, using me to lure you in. After he had you, no one would be able to stand against him."

"Well, that's interesting."

"Moravius had stormed in to where he was…examining me as I convalesced. He hurried his son away before more could be said. I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about, Rosie."

Fenris abruptly got a very odd look on his face, giving Odette a quick, considering glance, then back to Varric.

"This mysterious heir," the elf said. "You don’t think…"

"That it could be Rosie?" Varric laughed heartily at the thought. "Not a chance. Aside from the logistical nightmare that any regent representing her interests would go through, and the fact that all Magisters have to go through a rigorous test to prove their magical abilities, there's just no way."

"But she did say that Moravius claimed they could be stripped of their Charter for it."

"Fenris, I know she can't be for one very simple reason."

"And that is?"

"There isn't a Magister, not even the most lunatic and twisted by blood magic and dark pacts with demons Magister, that would make a longsword, no matter how pretty or enchanted, his heir."

Fenris considered, then nodded. Odette wouldn't be seen as having any will but her master's. Not even as a symbol or a figurehead would she be of any use as a Magister. An object. An article.

A weapon.

And a Magister had to be a mage. Not just instilled with magical abilities.

Varric took a sip of his forgotten ale and returned to dispensing information. "We also learned that there are more slavers here, to recapture you, Rosie. This mysterious heir sent them. And they've reclaimed the wreck, probably killing anyone trying to salvage it."

She paled, but gave no other sign of her fear. 

"Then I suppose I must continue to rely on your charity. If there are so many seeking me, I cannot earn coin for myself by my intended method."

"Actually, I just happened to come into a very large windfall, courtesy of this shadowy heir of Corvinus and the payment they intended for your capture. It will be more than enough to help you." Varric said, waving his mug dismissively. "If not, I'll just charge Broody, here. Either way."

Now she glanced at Fenris, but her expression was unreadable. 

"We also learned about the bandits on the coast," Varric said quietly. "You told us that you had been helped. They gave you clothes, food, and directions to Kirkwall."

She flushed, a delicate red tinge up to her hairline, making the tips of her ears nearly glow.

"I am sorry for the falsehood, but I did not know I could trust you."

"What happened? I'm pretty sure I know how it went, but I'd like to hear it from you."

"I had washed ashore, tied to my barrel. I had floated out at sea for two days and nights. I was nearly dead from lack of food and water. They found me, took me back to their camp. They gave me to two women there, who nursed me. Two more days passed. I recovered my strength." She closed her eyes, swallowed hard. "One night the women dressed me in a fine gown, styled my hair, then led me to the fires where the men were waiting. They told me they were going to sample the wares so they would know how much of a price I would bring in Kirkwall to the east. But if they liked me, they would keep me for themselves."

Varric made a sympathetic noise in his throat. Fenris crushed his mug, ale slopping over his hand.

"One grabbed me, tore the gown off of me, and then…everything went red. When I came back to myself, they were…they were…" she began shaking, the blush on her skin replaced by a green cast. "Dead. You saw the men in the Cellar. You know what it looked like. I had killed them all."

"Even the women?" Varric asked delicately.

"I did not see their bodies," Odette said. "But I was not looking for them, either. They could have been there. I fainted. When I regained my wits I was alone. I grabbed what I could and ran and ran and ran…"

"It's okay, Rosie," Varric said, reaching across the table and taking one of her hands, which had been twisting against its mate. "I know you didn't mean to."

"Does that matter? My intention? They are still dead. And so are those men in the Cellar. I killed them. _I_ killed them. I reached into their chests and ripped out their living hearts and—" With a shudder, she snatched her hand out from under Varric's and hugged herself. "I am a monster."

Fenris jerked as if stung.

"No. You are not," he said, still not looking at her.

"How can you say that?" she asked in a small voice. "I tore them apart. Slaughtered them. With this much power I could have just stopped them from hurting me, it did not have to kill them, but I could not control it!"

"That makes you unfortunate, and yes, dangerous, but not a monster. If you had destroyed them deliberately, slowly, took pleasure in it, that would make you a monster. Not defending yourself."

"Death is death," she said. Fenris looked like she had just hamstrung him. "I could not control it and it killed them. Intentions do not matter."

Fenris caught Varric giving him an intent look and sighed. "They do to the ones dealing it."

Varric nodded in approval and sat back with a happy grin.

"See? And he should know. He's killed all sorts of people," Varric chirped. That earned him a black look.

"But—"

"Rosie, if you're looking for someone to morally guide you, we are not the ones to do it. The one who could just left. He's our resident conscience. If you're looking to me to tell you that it was wrong and unforgiveable to kill bandit rapists, you're looking to the wrong dwarf. In my opinion, you did the world a favor."

"But is that all that I am now? An avenging freak, massacring the wrong-doers?"

"No more than I am," Fenris told her. "You will learn to control it, as I control mine."

"I don't know if I'm strong enough," she whispered.

"I do."

"How? How can you know such a thing?"

"I—" puzzlement flashed over his face. "I just do."

The expression she had as she gazed at him was full of defeated hope, an old, persistent longing denied. She took a deep breath, rising to her feet and gathering her robes about her. "Do you need anything else from me, Varric? I would return to my rooms."

"Go on, Rosie," he said, flapping a hand. "Go get some rest."

With a nod she turned and went up the stairs to the inn portion of the tavern.

"You have no idea, do you?" Varric asked Fenris.

"No idea about what, dwarf?"

"You have no idea which way she is going to make you jump. Well, hopefully you won't have to deal with it for much longer." He stretched with a yawn. "I'm to bed myself. I'll contact Blondie in the morning."

"You do that."

"You're staying?"

"For a time."

"Good. Take care of my tab before you leave."


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Fenris has another dream, and it reveals more of his forgotten past with Odette. Orlesian Templars attempt to detain him for questioning, and fail with an intervention from Knight Captain Cullen.

  


 

#  Chapter 13

_"Leto, are you certain of this?"_

_"It's the only way. This opportunity…I can't let it pass."_

_"But…the Magister said it was dangerous. It could kill you. The Tourney alone could kill you. This…experiment could do more than kill you. It reeks of blood magic, and evil."_

_"Musette, this may be my only chance. I have to take that risk."_

_"But we talked of this! I will do everything I can! One day I will earn enough coin to buy your freedom, then we will work together to free your mother and sister!"_

_"And how would you earn that coin?" he asked gently. "You know that there's only one way for a free elf to make any real money in the Imperium."_

_"I won't do that!" she flared. "Franz, at the Black Tabard, he's teaching me how to cook when I'm not waiting tables. I can—"_

_He chuckled and reached out a finger, pushing back the tousled red-gold curls that had fallen over her forehead in her passion._

_"I know you mean well, but I also know you will never make enough to buy my freedom that way. And I won't permit you to explore any other avenues."_

_"No," she insisted, but tears had flooded her large grey eyes. "I won't let you do this. Not something so dangerous. I love you, Leto. I can't just let you go to such a fate!"_

_He closed his eyes. "This is the only way, beloved. I cannot free my mother and sister without it."_

_"What about us? What about all our plans?"_

_"You know that if it weren't for my family, I would do anything to be with you." Hand dropping from her face, he clasped her hands in both of his own. His lambent emerald green eyes met hers with sad determination. "Anything. But we are just elves. We have no power and no hope of ever getting any. And since my father died, it is my responsibility to care for my family."_

_"We can run away," she whispered. "Go to the Free Marches, Fereldan, where the Dalish still wander. Take your family with us."_

_"We would never make it out of the Imperium. Acilius is not an overly cruel master, but he would brook no such defiance. He would spare no resource to drag us back. Then he would use us as fuel."_

_She grimaced, swallowing in horror at the thought, but had not given up._

_"I could join Acilius' house. Sell myself into slavery. Then we could get married at least!"_

_"No!" he snapped, making her jump. Releasing a hand, he dragged fingers through his own shaggy red mane. "You cannot be a slave, and you cannot be a whore. Please, stop even considering such things."_

_"You said you would do anything. How could I do anything less?"_

_"Because you would break my heart," he said quietly. She hung her head, biting her lip. "There are only three things in this world that I love, and I would see all of them free."_

_"No matter the cost to yourself?"_

_"No matter the cost."_

_"But…the Magister…Danarius…he said that you might not remember anything about your life now. Even if you survive, you could forget all of it! Your mother, your sister…me…"_

_"I could never forget you, Musette. You hold my heart, everything that makes me, me. So long as you exist, so will my love for you."_

_That broke the stubborn resistance she had been clinging too, and she began, covering her eyes._

_Suddenly his arms wrapped around her and he jerked her to him. She gave a little gasp and looked up at him._

_"I am afraid, Musette. But I can't be. I can't be afraid, I can't show that. If I do, I won't be able to go on. Please help me. Soothe me. Comfort me. As you have always done."_

_"I always will."_

_"Swear it," he said breathlessly. Part of him was panicking. The part that was terrified of losing her, this tiny slip of a girl who had smiled at him one day as he'd gone to the market for his mother. That smile had haunted him until he had sought her out once more. It had been trying, but Acilius had seen the advantage of gaining a slave by marriage, and had permitted Leto some time for courtship._

_A slave could not marry a freeborn, no matter the race or station. In order for them to be wed, Leto would have to be free, or Musette would have to sell herself into slavery. Which would sell all of their children and grandchildren to come. It made him sick thinking of it._

_Impossibilities, no matter which way they turned._

_"Swear you will always be with me, somehow, some way," he pleaded into her hair. It was warm from the sun, scented like lilacs. "The only way I can bear to go through with this is knowing that you will be waiting for me. I know it's selfish, I know that! But I can't let you go. I can't. The Magister has promised great power, and his influence. Perhaps one day I will be able to free myself from him, and then I will come for you."_

_"I swear," she sobbed into his chest. "I swear I will always wait for you, will always be there. I will never let you be alone. No matter what I have to do."_

_"Musette…" He reached into a pocket, withdrawing a kerchief. Slowly he opened it, revealing the small ivory and carnelian brooch bearing his likeness. "I want you to have this. Just in case something—just in case."_

_She gasped, touching it with a wondering fingertip. "This is your mother's. I could never…"_

_"She knows how much I love you. She gave this to me with her blessing. Please take it. It will be easier for me, knowing you have it."_

_Her small hand closed around it, carefully, as if it were a thin shard of ice that could break. "I will treasure it. Forever. But…I have nothing…there is no—"_

_"You are all I need," he said in a low voice, reaching for her once more._

_He covered her mouth with his, and she responded hungrily. A flash of indescribable need and want and heat washed over them, enveloping them. Clumsily, her fingers undid the laces of his shirt, and he shrugged it off in frantic haste. She fumbled off her simple peasant dress and came to him, gloriously nude, making his breath catch in his throat._

_"I will always love you," he whispered._

_"And I you, Leto."_

_But while they made love, she wept still._

A cold chill down the neck of his shirt caused him to jolt awake, and he bolted upright on the bed. 

Another dream that was not a dream.

He leaned forward and rested his head in shaking hands. The emotions still rushed through him, tenderness and sadness. Yearning and remorse. Love, and despair.

"Musette…" he murmured into the empty room. The name was so familiar, and so alien at the same time.

He had known her. In a way he never would have guessed. Or would have wanted. That he had been capable of such love, and such loss…

He had also been a fool. A complete and utter fool. All of the anger and confusion she made swirl inside of him. It all made sense now. As well as those little things he hadn't been able to keep himself from doing. Some part of him, some sleeping, silent part of him, had remembered her.

How else to explain the sudden wrath when those Fereldan mercenaries had threatened her. His inability to kill her when it seemed every instinct was screaming out to destroy her as he would any other abomination. How unsettled he became every time she came near and he felt her, smelled the lilac of her hair, the brush of her against him. How helpless he felt, watching her lie unconscious, only knowing that she could be nowhere else but at his side.

All of it, the confusion, the madness, it had come not from her reminding him of Tevinter, of the Magisters. It had come from within, as the part of him that knew did battle with the part of him that did not know. Something within him had recognized her, had always recognized her, even when she had been brought to him as reward in Tevinter. It had been the same, that same insanity, and he had visited it upon her liberally.

And Corvinus and Danarius had known about her link to him, and had gained sadistic pleasure from watching her struggle and suffer. That was the reason why Corvinus had chosen her, not because he had shown a simple preference for a particular slave to satisfy his carnal needs.

Sliding out of the bed she had so recently occupied in his manor, he grabbed his weapons and headed for the door.

All he knew was he had to get to her, see her. He had to tell her that all she had waited for had finally happened. He had remembered her. His head was full of nothing but her, and it was in a fog he left the house.

The fog was banished almost immediately.

"You are the elf known as Fenris, no?" a thick accent accosted him as he shut the front door of the mansion behind him and stepped into the gloom of Hightown.

Turning, he saw three men in shining plate mail before him, with the narrow mustaches and goatees that were fashionable in Orlay now. The armor bore a blazing sun in enameled gold on each breastplate, a fleur de lis in black on one shoulder. 

"I am, but I have neither the time nor the inclination to speak with you now, ser knight," he said, trying to brush past them.

One put a heavily mailed hand on his shoulder. They were all tall, much taller than him, and the smallest one outweighed him by forty pounds at least. It was obvious they were used to their size making things easier for them.

"Now, now, messere. I am Knight LaRoux. These stalwart fellows are Knights Dupuis and Dessante. We simply wish to ask you a few questions. We are within our rights as Templars. We have been pursuing an abomination, which we have lost."

"Then you should have kept a better eye on it," he retorted. "I told you, I have no time for this. Leave me be."

The hand on his shoulder, belonging to the one called Dessante, squeezed. Hard. 

"Everyone has time for the Chantry's holy work. Unless you are a heretic? A remnant of the Qunari that so many of your kind went to during their time here in Kirkwall?"

"My 'kind'?"

"Elves, messere."

"As I thought. I just wanted make sure I knew which brand of bigotry I was being confronted with."

The Templar's eyes tightened. "I think perhaps you should keep a civil tongue in your head."

"I think perhaps your friend should remove his hand before he loses it."

"Are you threatening us? Holy Templars, sanctified by the Divine herself?"

"No. Merely making a strong suggestion. And I also suggest you turn around and go back the way you came. I know you have talked to others, and I know you have been told how preposterous the very idea of me harboring an abomination is."

"But you consort with apostates. Quite freely."

"There is only one apostate whose company I enjoy. And she has the Grand Cleric's latitude."

"The Grand Cleric oversteps. No wonder Kirkwall is in such a sorry state."

"I didn't know the Templars were in the habit of correcting the behavior of a Grand Cleric, or second guessing their interpretations of the Chant."

The man flushed at this; a deep, wrathful red. "I believe you should come with us. Now, messere."

"Ser knight, I have been having an exceptionally bad week thus far. Do not compound it. I tend to get annoyed easily these days."

"Elven trash," the one holding his shoulder spat. "How dare you speak to us like that."

"Peace, Francois. It is our duty to educate the less fortunate in the ways of proper respect."

"Educate me, will you? And how do you intend to do that?" Fenris sneered.

The hold on his shoulder became crushingly tight. 

"Forgive us, Andraste," LaRoux intoned, eyes raising to the sky. "Your humble servant abhors violence, as you have taught us, but in some cases there is no other way." 

And he backhanded Fenris with a heavy blow from his gauntlet. Fenris staggered against the one holding him, wiping away the gout of blood from his lip. 

"Now, messere, perhaps you will be a little more cooperati—"

He was interrupted by the ugly crunch of bone as Fenris launched himself upward, his fist smashing into LaRoux' chin. He went over backwards with a clang and rattle of his armor.

Before the other two could react, Fenris hooked a foot behind the ankle of the one holding him and slammed his shoulder into the man's breastplate. He joined his fellow on the ground.

The third was ready, drawing his sword and dropping into stance.

"LaRoux?" he called out.

"Take him!" the knight on the ground shouted, spitting out two teeth and holding his mouth. "That bastard knife-ear broke my jaw!"

Dupuis' eyes gleamed as he circled warily. Fenris just stood there, watching him, seemingly relaxed. Dessante was rolling back and forth, trying to regain his feet, the heavy armor hampering him.

"You will regret this, elf," Dupuis said. "You have attacked Templars performing their anointed duties. I will have you in the stocks for this."

"Doubtful. He struck the first blow. Took him long enough. I thought I was going to have to start insulting his mother."

Dupuis laughed. It was not a nice sound. "He struck first, but it is of no moment. It is your word against ours. You have no proof. And who would believe the word of a knife-ear maggot over the word of a duly appointed Templar?"

"I don't know. I would."

Dupuis swung around to see seven armored men behind him, each with the stylized sun on the breastplate. And the red dragon of Kirkwall rampant on the shoulder.

"Knight Captain!" Dupuis stammered, then collected himself. "This _elf_ attacked us without provocation, after heinously insulting us. I demand you take him into custody!"

"You demand, Dupuis?" Knight Captain Cullen's voice stayed even and reasonable, but his eyes narrowed. "Do you really?"

"Yes! He assaulted us for no reason! Look at LaRoux, ser!"

"Oh, I am. Believe me, I am. That two knights could be so discommoded by one unarmored man who hasn't even drawn his weapon. Perhaps the training in Orlay is not what I thought it was."

Dessante and LaRoux finally lumbered to their feet. All three were veritably steaming at this point.

"Fenris, are you well?"

"Never better," he said, exploring his jaw and cheek with careful fingers, spitting a globule of blood onto the ground, barely missing Dessante.

"Good to hear. Do you wish to file a formal complaint?"

"What?" LaRoux demanded. "You can't do that!"

"Oh, I can do pretty much whatever I like, seeing as how I'm a Knight Captain. And what I like is following the law, both Chant and secular. You came here with no authority, the Grand Cleric having specifically forbid you from pursuing this line of investigation. You insulted the Grand Cleric, presuming to, what was it? Oh yes, second guess her. You attempted to indimidate this man using your rank and station."

"Kirkwall dog," Dupuis spat. "No wonder your mages have run amok."

"Although," Dessante taunted. "Not as badly as your failure in Fereldan, is it, Knight Captain Cullen?"

"You should have stopped while you were ahead," Cullen said in a low voice. "Knights LaRoux, Dessante, and Dupuis. I hereby arrest you in the name of the Maker."

"On what charge?" Dupuis demanded.

"The charges of intimidation under color of authority. Abuse of authority. Willful disobedience of the Grand Cleric. Insubordination. Unlawful detention and interrogation. And assault, if the messere wishes to go forth with that."

Fenris considered a moment. "What will their punishment be?"

"They threatened you with the stocks, didn't they? I think a fortnight in them would be a good start. After they've been stripped of their rank and all rights and privileges thereof."

"You cannot be serious!"

Cullen glanced at LaRoux. "Oh, I am many things right now. Serious is one of them."

"Then yes. I will file that complaint," Fenris said.

"Very good, messere." He jerked his head at the six men flanking him and they moved in, taking the Orlesian Templars into custody, one man on each arm.

"The Divine will hear of this, Knight Captain!"

"Indeed she will. I will write the missive myself. I will be sure to include all the facts in the matter. She should know exactly how her knights comport themselves when they don’t have their babysitter."

"I will have your office for this!"

"You will have nothing," Cullen barked. "You have done nothing but browbeat and bully since the day you arrived, but you always were just within the laws of propriety so I could do nothing about it. Now you have finally crossed that line, and I get to have my say. You are finished, ser. All of you. I will go to the Knight Commander herself and report to her exactly how you have behaved. You will be lucky if all that happens is a week or two in the stocks and then exile to Orlay. Your knighthood could be permanently stripped from you, and I promise you this, gentlemen; I will do my best to see that it is."

He jerked his hand and the three Orlesian Templars were led away. LaRoux and Dupuis were complaining bitterly, but Dessante said nothing, almost limp in the grasp of the two Kirkwall Templars escorting him.

"You should see an apothecary about that," Cullen said to Fenris, gesturing to the elf's face. It was already swelling and turning a variety of interesting colors. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I am well enough. Good thing you came by when you did."

"Yes, for their sakes. It was no coincidence. I've had those three shadowed since the Grand Cleric told them to leave you alone. It was pretty obvious they weren't going to listen. Sorry you had to get bashed first, but I couldn’t really do much until they did."

"I understand. That's why I was trying to provoke them."

"Come to the Viscount's Keep in the next few days to formally file your complaint. I can arrest and charge them, but it's not really official until it passes through the city guard. For the attack, anyway. That will have to be handled under secular law. The rest of the charges I can handle through my office."

"I was told you didn't believe the rumors."

Cullen laughed. "You? Secreting away an abomination? Even Knight Commander Meredith smiled over that idea, and she doesn't smile much nowadays. Might as well claim the sky is down and water is not wet."

"Am I that notorious then?"

"If you weren't an elf, we'd have snapped you up for the Templars, believe you me. We need more who understand the danger mages pose. The threat that they can represent."

"You know about my companions."

He nodded. "Like I said. We need someone who understands. If that will be all, messere, I have the glorious undertaking of the Maker's paperwork before me."

It was Fenris' turn to nod, and Cullen gave him a brief salute, then walked off.

Part of Fenris wished that Cullen had not arrived and stopped the fight. He'd needed to relieve some tension.

He stood for a moment, taking deep breaths, getting himself out of battle readiness.

A face with wide grey eyes, framed in red-gold curls swam through his head, making his heart swell with a complex wash of emotions.

He squared his shoulders and headed for the Hanged Man.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Fenris confronts Odette regarding their shared past, and reaches for an uncertain future.

  


 

#  Chapter 14

"I need to see her, Varric."

"Maker's breath, elf, what time is it?" Varric slurred. 

"Not yet fourth bell. Where is she?"

"Fourth bell? Fenris you—" here the dwarf devolved into colorful insults. Then he groaned and sat up. "Why?"

"That is none of your concern. I tried the barman but he just said he was more afraid of you than he is of me. Which room?"

"We've had this conversation. She's my client and you're unstable. You look terrible, by the way."

"I…remember her."

That stopped Varric mid-stretch. "And?"

"And I want to speak with her about it."

"Just speak?"

Fenris blushed, remembering how his last two dreams about her ended.

"Ah. Oh," Varric said. "I thought you might get violent, not amorous." He rolled back over and burrowed into the covers. 

"I will not get 'amorous'."

"Whatever you say, elf." A hand escaped the thick covers, flapping in the general direction of the other rooms. "Third door on the left. Key's in my coat. Now away with you, foul disturber of sweet and pleasant dreams, or I may become not nice."

Fenris was already up and rummaging in Varric's coat. Pulling out the key, he hurried down the hall to the room.

Knocking gently, he called, "Odette, it is Fenris."

A rustling sound from within. "Fenris? What do you want?"

"To speak with you."

"I do not think you have anything more you could say. Not that I am strong enough to hear."

"I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. Please let me see you."

"I cannot do this any longer, Fenris." Her voice quavered with helplessness. "It has been so long…but I have finally admitted defeat, I suppose. I cannot win over you. As you said, I never could."

He closed his eyes at the raw pain he heard through the door.

"Please, please let me see you. I am begging you…Musette."

The door flew open, and she stared at him with fearful eyes. Desperate hope flared there.

"Fenris?" she asked tentatively.

"No…not Fenris…"

"Leto!" she cried, flinging herself at him. He caught her in his arms, stepping into the room and kicking the door shut behind him. She was sobbing into his neck.

"I never thought…I had given up…Accepted that you were truly gone…"

Gingerly, he pried her off of him, holding her at arm's length. She sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Apologies," she said faintly, trying to compose herself. "I should not have…but I could not help myself…"

"No need to apologize."

He led her to the bed and set her down on it. She perched on the side, expectant, waiting.

"I don't remember much," he admitted. Instead of sitting, he began pacing. "And what I remember is disjointed, out of order. Tell me."

"Do you remember the Tourney?"

He shook his head. "Not much. I remember speaking with you beforehand. You did not want me to participate."

"But we both knew you would," she said sadly.

"You were freeborn, Musette, how could you end up with Corvinus? If you had fallen on such times, why not Acilius? He was a Magister, but he was not as sadistic as most."

"Do you remember when Danarius presented you to the people?"

"Of course." A presentation was something the Magisters did to show off their latest victory, magic, or other trophy. A well done presentation was a political tool wielded with the same force a farmer wielded his scythe, or a mercenary his sword. Fenris' presentation had been a full on festival, Danarius sparing no expense.

"I was there. I saw you. It was the first time I had laid eyes upon you in nearly seven months. You were so different. Strange."

He touched his hair. 

"Not just the hair, or your beautiful eyes. The way you stood, your expression. Everything was different. I was right up against the dais. I could almost touch you. You looked right at me…and then past. You did not know me."

His stomach cringed, the memory hitting him hard. His presentation had been the stuff of his nightmares for years, but she had never featured in them. But now he saw her, standing there, tears streaming down her face, with that odd unpleasant duality of knowing her/not knowing her. Part of him was wracked with anguish at hear tears. Part of him did not care in the least.

"Why did you say nothing? Why did you let me go?"

"I was so shocked, I could do nothing." She drew a shuddering breath. "I followed the entourage back to Danarius' estate when the presentation was over. The Magister saw me. He…invited me in."

"He what?"

"He said Acilius had told him about me, and he was glad to meet me, so he could tell me in person. I was never to tell you about your past before the rituals that changed you. I was never to tell you about you when you were still Leto."

"For what reason?" he demanded, bewildered.

"What had been done to your mind…the forgetting. It had not been intended, but of course Danarius used it. He…recreated you. Created Fenris. The perfect guard. The perfect weapon. The perfect slave. And if I forced upon you the conflicting knowledge of who you had been, it could destroy your mind. He told me that if that happened, death would be a boon over the state you would remain in until the end of your days, your mind gone."

"I remember…before they were freed, they brought my mother and sister to me." He staggered for a moment, catching himself on a table. "My head, when they told me who they were and I tried to remember them…it was excruciating. Like it was trying to tear itself apart."

She nodded somberly.

"Danarius said if you did not remember on your own, if you were forced, if there was any overt outside influence, your mind would turn on itself and rip itself to pieces. Then came up with a plan."

"Let me guess. You go to his dear friend Corvinus, and you would at least be able to see me. It might help me remember you."

"Yes," she sighed. "I did not know Magisters then the way I do now. He was all sympathy and smiles. I believed him. I allowed him to broker me to Corvinus."

"And you were made a pleasure slave."

"And I was made a pleasure slave. He had promised me a house slave position. That I would be loaned to Danarius' house frequently. That I would be able to see you often. But use is there of a Magister's words? I learned many harsh lessons."

"But when you discovered their lies, why didn't you return your sell-price and regain your freedom?"

"Because I would never see you again if I did. While I was trained, they let me…watch as you participated in the affairs that Corvinus and Danarius would orchestrate. It was terrible beyond imagining, but at least I could see you. That you were well. That you were physically whole."

"You…did all of that…threw away your freedom, your home, everything, because you might be able to see me? And you lived like that, reaping the abuses of an orgiastic house, and you could never say a word, never tell me. All of that, for me?"

"No." Her back straightened and she stared at him defiantly. "I did not do it for you. I did it for me. I swore an oath to you, I upheld it as best I could. And I would do it again. All of it. Even these," she thrust her arms out. "I would do it all."

"But why?"

"Because there finally came this day. The day you called me Musette," she replied simply.

"You are insane," he snarled. "I was part of that orgiastic house, I heaped my own abuses on you, and you remained. You watched as I slaked my own lust and the lust of others, then allowed me to do the same to you. I was cruel. And you still remained!"

"Of course I am insane. I am in love. And you keep saying you inflicted all of these terrible atrocities on me…that was not you. That was your fury and your frustration. I knew that even then, as young and as foolish as I was."

"I hated you sometimes," he told her. "Because you had had what I didn't even know I'd wanted at the time."

"I know. Some part of you remembered that once I had been free, that you had forbidden me to take that path. It made you angry."

"And I took it out on you. All of it!"

"You were with me. And you only remember the bad. I remember the good. There were times, when we were lying next to each other, a single candle at our head. You would gaze upon me with such an expression…you would fly into a fury, and all I had to do was reach out and touch to soothe you…that was what gave me hope. That is what allowed me to believe. To continue."

"I cannot be what I once was," he said, a catch in his throat. "I don't know how to go back."

"I don't want you to. You are who you are now. You are not the boy Leto any longer, just as I am no longer the girl Musette. But now, you _know_."

"That was why you would not tell me how you knew me, you were still afraid of what would happen to me."

"I could not take that chance. After you had fled Danarius…they told us you had died, in Seheron, victim of the Qunari. I never believed that. I am not sure why. But I also believed I would never see you again. You had finally, finally won your freedom, and you would run so far away that not even the Magisters would be able to find you. That was what I hoped."

"And yet you remained a slave."

"I…was foolish. The money I had made as my sell-price I loaned to a friend. To invest in a shop they wanted to open. The business failed, and my sell-price went with it."

"Musette…"

She swayed on the bed, hand gripping the fabric of her robes over her heart. "I have longed to hear you say that name for so long…but it is bittersweet. I did not realize it would cause me such pain. You say you can no longer return to being Leto. I can neither return to being your sweet, innocent Musette. I am stained. And I was wrong, you were right. I am broken. I am so broken, Leto…" she seemed to collapse in on herself then, and he hurried to her side. "It is enough you remember. It is enough. It must be."

"Why must it be?" he asked softly.

"Because…because you are Fenris now. You have a life here in Kirkwall, friends, companionship. I am hunted just as you were, and more. I bear the taint of forbidden magic, and even should I evade the Magisters, I will not evade both them and the Chantry."

Reaching out, he put one arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. She gasped, resisting for the barest moment, before allowing it.

"You are selfish," he said quietly.

"I know. I demand much."

"That's not what I meant. You are selfish because you will not stay. For me."

"Please, Fenris. I can take no more of your angry mockery." In sick weariness she tried to push him away, but he tightened his hold on her, refusing to let her go.

"I am not angry. Far from it. When I first came to Kirkwall, I was alone, confused, in pain, frightened and full of self-loathing. I had murdered those who had helped me at my master's whim. I had tasted the freedom that fortune cast my way and then spurned it, only to desperately seek it out again after so much blood was on my hands. Even now, if my friends were not so forbearing, I would have none. Perhaps…perhaps I could see things a little differently now."

"Differently?"

He brushed her hair with his undamaged cheek, and she shivered against him. "When I look around now, I would like to see what I am fortunate to have, instead of how unfortunate I have been."

"Does that include an obsessed elven whore who has been turned into a weapon against you?" she asked bitterly.

"You are not a whore," he said through gritted teeth. "As you said. It was Tevinter. We were slaves. We were both of us made to perform."

"You never had a choice. I did."

"No. You didn't. Because you are who you are, you had no choice."

"I am a weapon."

"As am I. You can learn to control it, as I have. Stay. Here in Kirkwall. With me."

"Leto…"

"Please, Musette, Odette, stay with me."

"I…am lost…"

"No. Now you are found. We both are."

"I want to…I want to believe, I want to know this is real…"

"It is. Your loyalty…such loyalty…it is finally rewarded, and I too, although I don’t deserve it. Tell me you will stay."

She trembled, burying her face in her hands. He recognized it as a habit of hers. It was an unexpected comfort to him.

"And now we both know why I was so angry when you kept bringing up how you would earn your keep," he said. "The very thought of another man touching you while you are so close to me…But, the things I said. I am sorry. I am so very sorry for everything I've said and done that's hurt you."

"Forgiven," she said instantly, her hands falling away. "You did not need to say it, but I knew you would."

"So you still think you know me."

"I always have. I knew you would not do me serious harm and you did not. I knew you would not kill me and you did not. I knew you would not cast me aside and you did not."

"Then you knew me better than I knew myself."

"I always have," she repeated.

"Musette…" Something in his voice made her look up at him. "I know I cannot atone…I did not mean to hurt you so much, I never wanted to forget you…"

"Leto," she murmured. Then she leaned up and silenced him by kissing him briefly.

When she went to pull away, his arm around her shoulders tightened, his other arm encircling her, drawing her to him completely. She pressed herself against him, and he stared down at her for a moment, before bending his head to hers. 

Her fingers danced over his leather armor, the fastenings of his clothing, and it fell away from him. As he reached for her, however, she pulled out of his grasp and stood before him.

"Are you certain?" she asked, voice a ghost.

"I am," he panted, his blood afire, yearning causing his fists to clench and unclench in the covers of her bed.

Reaching up, she undid the stays of her robes and they puddled to the ground around her feet. She was not wearing the bandages. She stood before him, flesh etched with the gruesome markings snaking their way around every limb, winding down her jaw, throat, collarbone, to branch out to her arms, back, and breasts. Down her stomach, her tiny waist, her flaring hips, they continued, banding around her thighs and calves, clawing to her feet. Streaks of blood could be seen against her pallid skin. A macabre mirror to the white etchings covering his own skin. 

"Are you certain?" she repeated.

"I am certain, Musette," he said, holding a trembling hand out to her.

She sighed, took his hand, and melted against him.  



	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Fenris returns to his home, and not alone.

#  Chapter 15

"Varric."

"Fenris? Decided to come see me at a relatively decent hour this time, did you? It's after tenth bell. And I see you came from inside the inn, not the taproom."

"I require your assistance."

"I am overcome with shock and amazement. What did you do this time?"

"Nothing! Er…that is to say…"

"Spit it out, elf. How many times do I have to apologize for you now?"

"I don’t know. But…Odette's bed needs to be replaced."

"Replaced? What happened to the old one?" Varric demanded in exasperation.

"I…er…broke it."

"You _broke_ it? How in Thedas did you manage—oh. Oh ho! Ho  ho ho!"

Brilliant scarlet, Fenris plonked some silvers on Varric's table, spat, "For the bed," turned on his heel, and walked out. 

Still chortling, Varric called, "How did you manage with her…condition?"

"Apparently the mage was wrong about that," Fenris tossed back. "She doesn't bleed at all when she's…happy." He disappeared around the edge of the doorframe.

Still chortling, Varric picked up the sovereign, flipping it up in the air and catching it. 

Fenris' head reappeared. "And she's staying. In Kirkwall. With me."

He vanished once more.

"Will wonders never cease," Varric said to himself.

 

"I am sorry," he told her, as they lay in the narrow bed, still at the Hanged Man. She was so tiny she barely took up any room. Fenris thought they could have been on his meager pallet of blankets and it still would have felt like a king's mattress. He ran a finger oh-so-lightly over one of her shoulders as she lay on her side, her back pressed against him. "I didn't even stop to consider if these would pain you."

"Think nothing of it," she said, wriggling against him to get comfortable.

"Please be still," he pleaded with her. " _Opus artis_ or no, I am only mortal."

A wicked little giggle answered him.

"Still, if I had been in my right mind, I never would have been so…rough. Do they hurt?"

"Always," she said simply. "But your touch makes me forget."

"Then I shall touch you as often as I can."

"I was afraid I would disgust you. The blood…it is not as bad as I had feared, but it is still there. It was much worse in the past." There were light smears of blood all over Fenris, but they were faint. He hadn't even realized they were there until he'd dressed to go speak to Varric. 

"The past? You mean after he did this to you, Corvinus…?" The thought was so disturbing he could not finish it.

"Yes. He found it…stimulating."

"If he were not dead already," Fenris growled, his arms cradling her protectively against him. "I would most definitely remedy that situation."

"But he is dead," she said, relaxing against him. "And is part of the past now. My future has only you. I am content."

"Perhaps you can teach me how to be."

"How to be?"

"Content."

"I will. I promise." She squirmed again.

"Woman, you will be the death of me, and then what of your promise?" he demanded.

"You will die contented, my promise will be kept!"

He flipped her over onto her back and covered her form with his own.

 

"It seems I was here a lifetime ago," she said, sitting on the bed, back at Fenris' mansion in Hightown. The walk back over had been odd for Fenris. She had been swathed in her usual robes, Fenris stalking, alert for threats, but there had been a spring in his step, and a gladness in his heart as they moved through the mid-afternoon sun hand-in-hand. Several shopkeepers did a double take as they passed, as if in disbelief that he was indeed the recalcitrant elf they were used to.

"Indeed," Fenris said, sitting next to her and covering her small fingers with his own. "Much has happened. For the better, I think."

"I as well," she replied, leaning against him. "Not to sound like a bard's lovelorn song, but I keep waiting to wake back up in my cell in Tevinter. I have had many dreams of this moment."

"It is no dream. Proof of this is the fact that I am ravenous."

She laughed, silvery bells tinkling, filling the room. "Be you still, then." 

Getting up she shed the heavy robes, once more wrapped in the bandages, and headed for the door. He sprang up and followed her. 

"I thought you weak from exertion," she teased as they made their way downstairs to the kitchen. 

"Though I am but worn to a shadow, I would still find the strength to follow you," he said dramatically, with a flourishing bow.

Her answering smile was delighted, and he basked in its warmth.

In companionable silence they entered the kitchen and she began pulling ingredients and utensils to make a meal. He leaned back against a table, crossing his arms, one ankle over the other.

"You do realize that I cannot abide your home the way it is," she told him, hanging a large pot on the hook over the fire.

"In what way?"

She waved a wooden spoon around, encompassing the dirt, the decay. "How can you live in such filth?"

"It never occurred to me to live any other way." He shrugged. "It had a roof, four walls, a hearth. And it had belonged to one of my enemies. Nothing else seemed important."

"Well," she sniffed, chopping vegetables. "It is important to me. I will make it fit for you."

"It is fit for me. Make it fit for you."

Another pleased smile, her head bending over the vegetables, a pink tinge in her cheeks.

He sobered, looking at her. "We will have to address those who hunt you. This mysterious heir who seeks you."

"I know. And the Templars."

"So long as we keep our heads down, they should not be a problem. They have their hands full as it is," he said, filching a carrot from her cutting board and crunching it. "They know that Hawke's…associates do more harm than good, no matter their magical calling. They don't search around us very hard."

"And am I one of these associates now?"

"You are mine. That is more than enough."

"Say that again."

"You are mine."

She gave a little shiver of pleasure and scraped the ingredients into the pot. He smiled.

"What will be involved with hunting down the Tevinters?" she asked.

"Following the breadcrumbs. Varric is looking now, and he has a broad network for information. It won't take long for them to reveal themselves to him."

"And then?"

"And then we discourage them."


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Fenris asks a question, and witnesses unease between Hawke and Anders.

  


 

#  Chapter 16

"You've gotten word," Fenris said, striding into Varric's rooms.

"Where's Rosie? I thought you two were inseparable."

"With Hawke. She's trying something new to hopefully seal the markings. At least enough for her to stop…" He fumbled for the right word.

"Leaking?" Varric supplied helpfully. Fenris made a face.

"Yes. Leaking."

"Wouldn’t that be nice?" Varric said. "Those robes and bandages can't be pleasant in this heat."

"To say the least."

"I heard that Sebastian paid you a visit."

Fenris sat in the chair opposite Varric, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. "He did. He…spoke of certain ceremonies he can perform in his capacity as a priest."

"He wants you two to get married."

"Yes."

"And he wants to officiate."

"Yes. He claims it would do him good. A bright point in this time of darkness."

"It certainly couldn't hurt," Varric said. "As far as I'm concerned, it would be a fantastic ending to the tale. And the beginning of a new one."

"But marriage…It was what we had wanted, so long ago. I am uncertain if I'm even fit for it now."

"Do you love her?"

"Yes," Fenris said with intensity, eyes flashing.

"Does she love you?"

"She's given every indication, although I could not tell you why."

"Well, I'd say you can provide for her. What else could be the problem? I thought you'd have already dragged her in front of the altar."

"Look at us," he demanded. "Look at what we are. Two elves, twisted by Magister experiments into dark magic. How deeply has that magic changed us? What of…" His face contorted, unable to finish the sentence.

"Children?" Varric asked quietly.

Fenris just hung his head with a somber nod.

"Maybe Hawke can find out, or Blondie." He held up a hand to forestall the immediate and instinctive rejection about to spring from Fenris' mouth. "Hear me out. Believe me, I know how you feel about him. But he is the strongest spirit healer I have ever seen. Or heard of, and trust me when I say I've heard about a lot of mages. He is able to pull off near-miracles with that talent of his. It's one of the reasons why the people of Darktown love him. If he was willing to help them, but wasn't effective, they wouldn't give a tinker's damn. They have a very practical desperation."

"I…will consider it."

Varric stared at him.

"What?" Fenris demanded.

"That was a lot easier than I thought it would be. I expected at least ten minutes of ranting. And five of raving. You're throwing off my schedule."

"I have more than myself to think of now," Fenris told him. "Odette has as much reason to hate them as I do. More. But she doesn’t. She distrusts them, but she distrusts nearly everyone. If the abom—Anders can help us, I have to try."

"And if he can't?" The question was soft.

"Then we do what we can." Fenris looked up at him, an odd light in his eye. "Would you stand up with me?"

"Elf…" Varric was actually shocked speechless. "I am actually shocked speechless. Enjoy it, it doesn't happen often."

"I understand if you decline," Fenris said hurriedly, getting to his feet and pacing back and forth. "There is no obligation implied. I have not been the best companion."

"Oh, stop that. Your martyrdom is giving me a headache. Of course I'll stand with you. I'd be honored."

A rare, honest smile, not twisted by derision and self-mockery, spread across Fenris' features.

"Thank you," he said simply.

"And, as she has no one to provide it, I will supply her dowry. You're going to need a good amount of coin to restore that wreck you let fall into ruin."

"Dowry?"

"I think the money I got from Secullus will do. I was going to use it to get her out of town and set her up somewhere. I never really did feel right keeping it after you told me she was going to stay."

"I…don't know what to say. I've…never experienced such…" Fenris searched for the word, couldn’t find it, and shrugged helplessly. But his eyes were full of humble gratitude.

Varric had to clear his throat. "Let's get back to the Tevinters before I get all misty eyed."

"Yes," Fenris said, mind back on business. "What have you heard?"

"Two groups have recently entered Kirkwall. One overland from the east, the other in a ship called the _Savage Gladius_."

"Are they pieces of a whole, or individual groups?"

"They haven't contacted each other that I know of, but that may not necessarily mean anything. It's most likely they're both from this heir, looking for Rosie. They've been very hush-hush about what Houses back them. And…there's three robes with each group."

"Six mages," Fenris mused.

"Or more. If they have any arcane warriors, they can wear armor and use standard weaponry. None of the usual markers. We won't know they're spellcasters until they start slinging lightning bolts around."

"Where did they go?"

"The _Gladius_ folks are staying on board. Their paperwork claims they're honest merchants here to trade in silks. The overland people are at the Thorn  & Dragon."

"That's an inn in Hightown. Not known for its inexpensive rooms."

"It's where visiting nobility stays," Varric agreed.

"How many in each group?"

"Fifteen from the ship, nineteen at the inn."

"Hardly insurmountable." Now his eyes gleamed as he braced himself against the table, leaning forward. "And the word on whether there is a Magister with them?"

"Unknown. But they are throwing an awful lot of coin around. It's only a matter of time before they find Rosie."

"Let them."

"They may not be insurmountable, but with at least three mages each, any one or more of them a Magister, they are definitely nothing to sneeze at. You and I might not be enough. Even with Rosie."

"Rosie will not be participating," Fenris snarled. "Under no circumstances will I expose her to anything Tevinter, ever again."

"Easy, easy," Varric said, hands up in surrender. "Save it for the bad guys."

"Just so you understand. I will not use her as a weapon. Not even against the Magisters. Not against anything."

"I understand, elf. I understand."

"Good. Give me a day to prepare." Fenris straightened. "Then I will tell you the information you can allow to fall into their hands."

"Want any help laying the trap? I have a few ideas."

"No. Just make sure the Coterie knows what's going on. If they interfere, in any way, for any reason, I will destroy them."

"I'll let them know that perhaps they should sit this out."

"You do that."

 

"Hawke."  
"Fenris," she said with a smile, she and Odette coming down the stairs to where Fenris was standing in front of the fireplace, idly scratching Otto, Hawke's Mabari War Hound, behind the ears. For all that Mabari were highly intelligent, on par with a child of about eight years of age, could understand human speech, and execute complex battle tactics, Otto looked like nothing more than a very happy, if very large, puppy, as he leaned into Fenris' hand, eyes nearly shut in enjoyment, tongue lolling.

Odette immediately crossed to him and he put an arm around her. Hawke smiled, watching them, but it was pensive.

"Here to pick up Odette?" she asked.

"Yes, and I seek your aid."

"Of course."

"Do not agree so readily, you do not know what I ask."

"You want my help to face down the Tevinters who have come to look for her, Tevinters who may or may not be Magisters."

"Varric told you then?"

She laughed. "It doesn’t take a master of espionage to figure that out."

"I suppose. And?"

"I gave you my answer. Of course I'll help." Her face darkened. "Let's just say I disagree with what the Magisters have done to you and Odette. And others. I'd like to argue with them a little, present my side. Even if you weren't asking, I'd still do something."

"Hawke…"

"I'm the mighty Champion of Kirkwall," she said with a grin and a shrug. "I'm supposed to defend it from such devilry, am I not?"

"There's more."

"Oh?"

He turned to the elven woman clasped to his side. "Odette, I've been thinking about what Sebastian said to us, when last he visited."

She went very still, obviously trying to contain the sudden rush of emotions that surged through her.

"Once we remove this Tevinter threat…would you become my wife?"

Odette burst into tears.

Fenris became very perplexed.

"I'm—sorry—I did not know it would upset you…"

She could only hiccup and cough as she sought to rein in her tears.

"Fenris," Hawke said in a tone of quiet amusement. "She's not upset."

"She's…not?" He gave the tiny elf a misgiving glance. 

"I do believe she's trying to say yes."

Odette sent Hawke a look of pure gratitude and began nodding violently.

"Yes…this means yes?" Fenris said, peering at her intently. She began nodding so hard she nearly overbalanced herself into the fire, choking on sobs and laughter. He looked helplessly at Hawke. "Is this normal?"

"It can be," she chuckled, but her own eyes were suspiciously bright. She pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and offered it to Odette, who took it and covered her face with it. Hawke cleared her throat and swept her eyes across what markings of Odette's that could be seen, then gave a little sigh of relief.

Uncertainly, Fenris pulled Odette closer, into a gentle embrace. She responded by flinging her arms around him and burying her face in his chest.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" she cried. "I will marry you! Of course I will marry you!"

He sagged against her, clinging to her.

Hawke turned away, wiping her eyes, a watery smile on her lips.

"What’s all this?"

"Anders!" Hawke exclaimed. The mage was coming through the door that led to the basement of Hawke's mansion. He had a grin on his face, seeing the awkwardly joyful tableau, but it did not do much to diminish the hard brightness of his eyes, or soften the stark shadows of his face.

He moved next to Hawke, still smiling, but did not offer her any other greeting. She deflated a moment, then shook herself a bit and regained her smile with determination. 

"Fenris proposed to Odette. She is…a little excited."

"I can see that," he said with humor, seeing the little elf adhered to Fenris, still weeping.

The air around Hawke became distinctly strained, and she looked at the couple, who was lost in each other for the moment, with a hint of sad longing.

"Are you well?" Anders asked her politely.

"Oh, yes. I'm fine," she said. Her hand twitched, as if to reach for Anders', but she stilled it. He did not notice.

"Congratulations, Fenris," he called. "I know we are not…on the best of terms, but please allow me to wish you joy." He extended his hand.

Fenris looked at him, looked at his hand, then reached out and firmly clasped it.

"My thanks," he murmured.

"When is the happy occasion?"

"After we've dealt with the Tevinter threat."

Anders looked at Hawke. "Need any help?"

"I think Fenris, Varric, and I can handle it," she told him. "I know you have important matters to attend to."

For the briefest of moments his face spasmed in guilt, hands clenching. "Yes," he said hoarsely. "Important matters."

"I understand, Anders."

The look he gave her was one of overwhelming helplessness, "Marian…"

Now she did take his hand. "I understand," she repeated. Swallowing, she tried for a lighter tone, but it quavered ever so slightly. "I really do. You…warned me, after all." 

He hung his head, congratulated Fenris and Odette once more, then all but fled through the door back to the basement.

Hawke watched him go with despair frosting her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Fenris said, having caught the exchange between the two. "I should not have done this here. I hadn't realized. But you are the first true friend I made since I cast off my shackles. I wanted you to bear witness."

"Don't apologize," Hawke told him, returning to usual manner. "It did me good to see it, and I am privileged to be your witness."

"You and Anders…"

"Two apostates, one possessed by a spirit from the Fade, one the Champion of Kirkwall, living under the same roof with the Templar insanity swirling around them," she said melodramatically, her grin firmly back in place. "What's there to be worried about?"

"Hawke…"

"I'm _fine_ , Fenris. Odette…I would be honored if you would allow me to stand with you."

Fenris' glance was full of gratefulness. They both knew that Odette would have never even thought of asking Hawke to stand with her, and she knew no one else. Her years of slavery had conditioned her not to have any expectations for herself. It would be a long, slow process to teach her otherwise.

"No, it would be my honor," Odette finally said, sniffling and mopping her face with Hawke's handkerchief. "Please, I would be obliged."

"That's settled then. Come," she turned to move into the library. "A drink to celebrate!"

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Fenris and companions act on the information regarding two groups of Tevinters in Kirkwall. An assault. The appearance of Justice. A strike into Darktown.
> 
> The revelation of a dangerous nemesis.

  


 

#  Chapter 17

Varric, Hawke, and Fenris moved swiftly through the shadows, through Lowtown to the Docks. All were in full battle gear, and all moved with silence and purpose. The night air was sharp, the cloudless sky full brilliant pinpricks of light. The heat of the day had dissipated quickly with the setting of the sun, and the chill blanketed everything in Kirkwall.

"Are you certain?"

"Positive. This is a reconnaissance mission, elf," Varric warned him. "We're only going to observe, see what we can learn."

"Of course."

"I mean it. I've gotten word of reinforcements coming, reinforcements fresh from Seheron. We need to know as much as we can before we confront them."

Seheron was an island off the coast of Tevinter that had been an active and bloody battle zone for decades. The Qunari had claimed it as their own, Tevinter wanted it back. The Tevinter were stubborn, the Qunari immoveable. Tevinter forces from Seheron were no laughing matter.

"We may not have to fight them at all," Hawke said. "If what you've been told is true."

"I have no reason to doubt it."

"That would be disappointing," Fenris growled. 

"Fenris, you cannot challenge them tonight. You know as well as I do that they have tame abominations that do a lot of the fighting in Seheron. This changes the situation."

"It does not. We have faced such fearsome odds before."

"No, we haven't. Not like this," Varric insisted. "The Tevinter have figured out how to work with abominations, appeasing the demons. The possessed are willing hosts. And blood mages. They say they've even harnessed shades, pulling them out of the Fade. They are insanely powerful. We can't afford to be careless."

"He's right," Hawke chimed in. "We have never encountered anything like them. Even I've only heard tales."

"We fought the possessed Templars easily enough," Fenris snorted. 

"Those were Templars, not maleficarum," Varric said through gritted teeth, trying to stay patient. Maleficars were mages who had turned to forbidden magics. "And not Tevinter trained maleficarum to boot. I'm begging you here, elf. Only observe."

"Fine," he spat. "Intelligence gathering only."

"The only reason I invited you along was because I knew you would be thoroughly unpleasant if I didn't. Don't make me regret this."

"I said I would abide by your wishes, dwarf. What more would you have of me?"

"You telling me I'm 'worthy' of the truth."

"Of course you are," Fenris snapped. "Or I wouldn't play Wicked Grace with you."

"I guess I can't argue with that. Odette?"

"At my house," Hawke supplied. "With Anders, Sebastian, and Otto."

Varric gave a low whistle. "Sandal and Bodhan are there too, right?"

"No. I sent them to my uncle's. I won't knowingly put them into a dangerous situation."

"But Sandal…"

"Is an unknown," Hawke said firmly. "I don't know what he can do, or how he's done what he seems to have done. Is it reliable? Will it keep him safe all the time? Besides, it wouldn't be fair to Bodhan. And I don't want my house blown up." She waggled her fingers and said in a dreamy voice. "Boom."

"Boom," Varric echoed. "Still, I feel for the fool who tries to invade that place."

"I do not," Fenris said.

 

They slid through the night, quietly making their way through the Docks to the dock house where the _Savage Gladius_ was moored. They slipped behind a mound of shipping crates.

"Guards," Varric said. "Hired muscle from Kirkwall."

"Let me," Hawke said, standing, but still staying well in the shadows. Raising her staff, she murmured a quiet phrase. One by one the guards began slumping over.

"Dead?" Varric asked.

"Asleep."

"Let's go."

They wended their way forward, into the dock house. The instant they stepped through the door, the clash of combat could be heard. They didn’t pause, moving forward as one, Varric on point to search out any traps, ready to dart behind Fenris. Hawke was last, the first two providing a buffer so she could rain havoc down with her magic.

The dock house was set up much like the warehouse Varric and Fenris had met Secullus in, but on a much larger scale. The landing they came out on was two stories above the main floor, with ramps and stairs leading down. It wasn't any better lit, however, and they were able to make their way forward without being detected.

Bright flashes of light speared up from the floor, punctuated by battle cries and the crack of magicks, the clang of steel on steel, the twang of arrows loosed.

They watched, but could see no clear insignia indicating which group was which. That didn't seem to slow the combatants down as they hammered at each other. But it looked like one group was trying to assault the ship and get on board.

"Where is she?" a man shrieked, his staff aglow with bright red runes, flame racing from his fingertips. He wore heavily ornate robes, a blood red mantle with black, spidery scrawls embroidered on it, trimmed in gold. His black hair was slicked back from a sharp widow's peak, and his short, neatly trimmed beard was flecked with his spittle.

"I do not know, milord!" an armored man, closest to the ship and expertly defending himself called back. "She must still be on the ship!"

"Well get her, you fool!" the bearded man snarled, hurling a spiky ball of ice from one hand, the runes on his staff racing from red to blue.

"Yes, milord!"

The armored man shouted in a language none of the three could understand, and his men formed up on him. In a phalanx, they solidly moved forward, their enemies swarming around them, trying to break through the overlapped shields, the long polearms jutting out. Figures rose in a wave and crashed against them, but the phalanx inexorably moved forward.

An ugly, contorted chant rose from the ship, and pits of flame and brimstone began appearing on the floor of the dock. Creatures of molten lava climbed up from them, hauling themselves out. Fierce, furious glee emanating from them, they fell on the phalanx.

To be met by lithe, voluptuous forms, females with pale lavender skin, horns delicately curling back from their foreheads, and cloven feet. Each of the females had three or four human men around them, their faces wiped of intelligent thought. Mindlessly, the men flung themselves on the creatures of magma, not even screaming as the molten rock seared through them.

"Get to the ship!" the man screamed, nearly jumping up and down in his frenzy. "Get to the ship and drag that knife-ear bitch out here!"

"Easy, Fenris," Varric whispered as they crouched on the landing above, placing a hand on the elf's arm. "You know they're not talking about Rosie."

Fenris shot him a glare, but subsided.

"We cannot possibly wade into that," Hawke said, voice a little awed at sight of the embattled demons. "Not even in the Fade have I seen anything like this. It's a scene straight out of the Black City." The Black City, according to the Chant, had once been the Golden City, where the Maker lived. Until Tevinter Magisters sought to invade it and take the secrets of the Maker for their own. The Maker had not obliged them, instead cursing them and the city, making it a place of torment. A city of the damned. 

"You're right," Varric replied. "I know we generally go for a 'kill them all and let the Maker sort it out' strategy in cases like this, but this might be a bit much for us without some planning."

"Particularly as all this is going on," Hawke gestured to the melee with her staff. "And they still have enough power left over to mask it all from the outside. This had been going on for at least a bit before we got here, and there wasn't a hint of it outside. It's time to go and try to figure out what all the implications are for us."

Fenris gave a short, sharp nod.

The three quietly backtracked their way out of the building, moving with exponentially more care than they had exercised coming in.

When they made it back to Hightown and Hawke's mansion, they saw that the door was standing wide open, yawning into blackness.

They darted forward, automatically falling into position. As quietly as they could, they entered the house. Nothing seemed amiss in the foyer.

"Odette!" Fenris called. "Odette!"

He rushed forward, eyes darting frantically. 

In Hawke's receiving room, Otto lay in a crumpled heap in front of the fireplace. On the landing overlooking the room, they saw a hand in a familiar archer's brace hanging over the edge.

"Varric!" Hawke cried, falling to her knees next to the dog.

The dwarf hurried up the stairs, Bianca at the ready. Fenris tore off through the door to the library, his calls for Odette getting more frenzied.

Ottostirred at Hawke's touch and his eyes opened. Seeing his master, he tried to wag his tail, but yiped and fell still, shivering. That was when she noticed his brindle coat was liberally streaked with blood. As were his muzzle and claws. Some of the blood was not red.

Tears in her eyes, she lay her hand gently on the hound's flank, green-gold light outlining it.

"Hawke?"

"Otto's alive, what about up there?"

"Sebastian," he said. "He's unconscious, but breathing. He put up one hell of a fight. No arrows left."

She swallowed spasmodically. "Anders?"

"No sign yet."

Otto blinked and rolled to his feet, giving Hawke a slurpy kiss and then hanging his head with a whine. "It's okay, boy. It's not your fault." Getting to her feet, she looked around.

Round scorch marks liberally pooled on her floor, and now the stench of ozone and sulphur all but clogged her nostrils. Now that she was looking, the signs of combat were everywhere. Arrows in walls, slashes in carpets and furniture, blood and ichor everywhere.

The fire burned cheerfully in the hearth, incongruous in the macabre surroundings.

"Fenris!" Hawke shouted, moving up the stairs.

"She's not here!" he yelled back. " _She's not here!_ "

Varric emerged from the bedrooms on the landing as Hawke finished healing Sebastian. The priest groaned and sat up, rubbing the back of his head.

"Och, that was unpleasant."

"By the Maker, what happened here?" she blurted.

"They…took her. Not even a Magister should have been able to conjure up what hit us," Sebastian said solemnly. Fenris dashed up the stairs and staggered to a stop, starting at them with wild eyes. Sebastian winced in guilt seeing him. "They came so fast. One minute I was keeping watch out the window, the next Otto was savaging a Desire demon by the throat, and more were erupting out of the floor."

"A mage has to see where such summonings go," Hawke said. "Didn't you see one?"

"I swear by my faith, there was no mortal among what attacked us," he said solemnly.

"Anders," she finally breathed. "Where is Anders?"

"I don't know. The last thing I saw was two Rage demons and Anders…wasn't Anders as he took on a Sloth demon."

"A Sloth demon?" she gasped, aghast. "But they never come out of the Fade. Are you sure?"

"There was this…this voice. Telling me to give up, it wasn't worth it. Just lie down, let it happen, no point to struggling, to fighting, to _anything_. It took everything I had to fight it off…and then Anders was there. I heard his voice…and then it wasn't his voice. But it brought me back."

"Sloth demons are enigmas…no one really knows how powerful they can be. They just wait in the Fade, conserving their energy, waiting until something wanders by they can easily defeat. Mages can't compel them."

"Apparently one can now," he said. "Fenris…Hawke…I'm sorry." He raised a dazed hand to his forehead. 

"You have nothing to apologize for," she said, visibly steeling herself and climbing back to her feet. "You did what you could. None of us were expecting that kind of assault."

"You are free of blame, Sebastian. This is my fault," Fenris said. "Our victory over Danarius made me careless. Who among us knows the Magisters better than I?" Turning he slammed a fist into the wall, stone crumbled beneath his knuckles.

"That won't help us now!" Hawke said. "Now we need to find them, and fast."

Loud barking came from downstairs. Hawke looked over the railing. Otto was standing at the door that led to Hawke's basement, scratching lightly at it and whining.

"You can follow them?"

More barks.

"Sebastian, you know where the armory is," Hawke said, disappearing into her bedroom for a moment and tossing him a key. "In the silver-chased chest are my enchanted arrows. Get as many as you can carry." The priest nodded and hurried off.

"You two, come with me." She led them into a room off the kitchen, which smelled strongly of herbs and other not-so-pleasant ingredients. Pulling open a cupboard, they saw row after row of potions; ruby, cobalt, and amber. One section of the cupboard held dozens of small packets, smelling strongly of elfroot.

She began putting the largest blue and red vials, and several packets into her pouch.

"Take as many as you can carry."

Fenris and Varric joined her, taking red and amber vials and carefully stowing them wherever they would fit. Red for healing, blue for magic, yellow for stamina. As they packed, Sebastian joined them in the room, then also began taking vials and packets. His quiver was full of arrows. All of them had a soft glow, although the colors varied. The light around a few was a muddy, dirty color.

Taking another key out of a pocket in her robes, she opened a heavy, iron bound chest next to the cupboard, pulling out four more potions. The contents were deep amethyst, and seemed to sparkle with an inborn light.

"These are new," she told them. "I just got the recipe for them. They will protect you from what would normally be a mortal blow. The effect only lasts for one death strike, and only for a short duration. Do not drink them until immediately before we go into combat."

"Do they work?" Varric asked, studying the eddy and play of light in the liquid.

"I haven't field tested them yet, if that's what you mean. They won't kill you. But they are experiments. No guarantees."

"There never are with magic," Fenris said as if it were an oath.

That potion was very, very gingerly stored upon their person.

She took a deep breath.

"Let's go."

Otto led them down the stairs to Hawke's basement, then to a cunningly concealed trap door set into the floor in one corner.

"Sebastian…I'm asking that you forget you ever saw this," Hawke said softly.

"Saw what? It's so blasted dark in this basement I'd need the all-seeing eyes of Andraste herself to make anything out."

"Thank you," she murmured.

Then she pulled open the trap door and they descended through to Darktown.

Darktown was quiet, which was unusual. As they emerged from the tunnels near Anders' clinic, all could feel the stillness. Darktown was nocturnal. The denizens should just be getting started with their night. Instead, the corridors were empty, only the smothered, fearful breathing from the crudely cobbled together shelters letting them know that they weren't entirely alone.

The inhabitants knew great forces were moving in Darktown that night and they huddled in their pathetic shelters, hoping to draw no notice from the momentous.

Otto paused, scenting the air, then streaked off, the four close behind.

They followed the dog through interminable tunnels, where rats skittered underfoot, down winding staircases that shuddered underfoot with every step, across wide black corridors where water dripped in the distance and slicked the uneven paving stones. 

"He's taking us through the sewers," Varric said quietly. "They also open to the Docks. Where our two unknown friends were playing so nicely together."

"But which of our friends is waiting for us?" Hawke asked, voice trembling with fear for Anders.

"Hawke, they'll be fine. He'll be fine. He came through a certain Grey Warden prison just fine, and the stresses there were a lot more than even the Magisters could throw at him."

She smiled, but it was distracted, almost an instinctive response to Varric's reassuring tone. He doubted if the words registered deeper than the surface of her worry.

"You don't know…he hasn't been himself…not for a long time. I don't know what it would take to…"

"To?"

"Drive him over the edge," she whispered, as if the words were causing actual physical pain. She swallowed, hard. "Justice…you haven't heard him. The man I love is disappearing. Justice is so strong now."

"Keep it together, Hawke," Varric said in a low voice, glancing at the elf who ghosted ahead of them, right on Otto's flank. His markings flickered in fitful blue smolders. Sebastian was on his heels, but he wasn't watching Otto, he was watching the elf, eyes concerned. "Fenris is awfully close to snapping himself, and I don't know if Sebastian and I would be enough to stop him if he loses it."

She shook herself, tightened the grip on her father's staff. "We will get them back," she said in a stronger voice. "No matter what." She glanced at Fenris herself, finally seeing him. "All of them."

"There's the Champion I know and love."

Otto stopped before a crumbling archway, a low rumbling growl coming from his throat, hackles standing on end.

"Drink those potions I gave you," Hawke said, pulling out her own and downing it.

"Well, isn't that a nice change. Tastes like fruit punch."

"So glad you approve."

"Can you do anything about the stamina variety?" he asked, making sure Bianca had a bolt loaded and ready to go. "They taste like ogre feet."

Despite herself, Hawke smiled, and Sebastian chuckled.

As one, they moved through the arch.

They were in a vast cavern, the cold and damp telling them they were far underground. They could not see the ceiling, the walls to either side of them or in front of them. In the far distance, they saw flashes of jewel-toned light.

Otto broke into a smooth lope, the others sprinting in his wake. He wasn't growling now, instead streaking ahead in deadly silence. 

They neared, and sound accompanied the light. The same sounds of combat they'd heard in the dockhouse. They were going down a gentle slope, and chaos reigned beneath them.

Men, maleficarum, demons, in pitched battle beneath Kirkwall.

And one spirit of the Fade fused with a powerful apostate.

" _I will bring you such justice as you have never seen!"_ A voice that was Anders-Not-Anders bellowed. " _I will bring you retribution the likes of which you could not have dreamed of in your foulest imaginings!"_

A deep, warped voice slurred, " _Little spirit, I have no truck with you. My part in this is done. I merely wish to collect my payment and retire to the Fade. But if you persist in annoying me, I will swat you like the impertinent fly you are."_

" _Fiend!"_ Anders-Not-Anders howled. " _How many have you destroyed, instilling apathy into noble souls, turning them? You felled my allies, took the girl, but you will not keep her!"_

_"Little spirit, once the mageling has ripped from the bleeding child whatever she desires, the remainder is mine. She is tender. She is juicy. And she is mine."_

Crying his Anders' name, Hawke put on a burst of speed, hurling herself forward. 

But Fenris was faster still, markings bursting into silver blue flame, his hammer outlined in the same pure fire, he smashed into the rank of men and demons closest to them. The head of his hammer slammed through them, knocking them aside.

"Odette!" he cried, his hammer plunging into the molten mass of a Rage demon. The demon howled, clawing at the weapon, then exploded. 

Lightning forked out from Hawke's staff, flashing to one armored man, then to another, and another. Sebastian's hands were a blur, as arrow after arrow left glowing trails behind them, each one finding a target. Bianca sang in Varric's hands, snapping out bolts with surety and deadly accuracy. Otto dodged in, ripping with tooth and claw, keeping Fenris' flanks and back clear from any seeking to take advantage.

But for every one they felled, three more took their place. There was no end to them, the magma brightness of Rage, the silken sheen of Desire, the grotesque forms of abominations, the sprays of blood and magic from the maleficarum, the steel from mortal men. They managed to cut a bloody, desperate swath into the fray, but it closed around them like the waters of a storm tossed sea.

"Hawke, we need your doozies!"

"I can't, Varric!" she shouted raggedly back. "Without knowing where Anders and Odette are, I can't risk any of my big elemental spells!"

"Just grand. Sebastian! Can you see them?" The priest was the tallest out of all of them. He stopped firing for a moment.

"Excuse me, milady," he said to a Desire demon, before planting his free hand on her shoulder and hoisting himself up with it to catch a quick glimpse over the battle.

" _Sweet and precious priest,"_ the Desire demon began as he landed, but before she could continue, he pulled one of the darkly glowing arrows out of his quiver and rammed it into her left eye. She fell backwards, arms flailing, black ichor spurting from her eye as she screamed.

"Sorry, milady, but I have been taught to fight temptation. Occupational hazard. You understand."

"Sebastian!"

"Straight ahead is north, Anders is northwest!"

"Fenris!" Hawke called.

The elf gave no indication he heard her, but changed course, his hewing moving roughly in that direction.

"I think we've landed ourselves in the middle of in-house fighting, Hawke," Varric told her.

"What?"

"I think Corvinus' mysterious heir and his son Moravius are duking it out to see who gets to be king of the castle!" He had to shout to be heard over the cacophony around them. "If they were united against us, we would be having a lot more trouble than this!"

She paused for a moment, looking around. It was true. The only ones attacking them were the ones they attacked first, bumped into, or got very close to. The enemies swirling around them were more interested in each other than the band from Kirkwall.

"And where does Odette come into all this?"

"She's a powerful creation of Corvinus! They could want her as a symbol of their legitimacy, for her intrinsic abilities, or to sell her to the highest bidder! But they both want her! And not necessarily alive! You heard what that demon said!"

"So what happens if we're still here when one of them gets on top?"

"I highly recommend that we not find out! Let's get Anders, get the girl, and get out of here!"

"I couldn’t agree more!"

There was a clap of thunder that shook the floor, blue-white light engulfing the entire battlefield for a moment, causing all to shield their eyes. It left vibrant after images. 

A distorted, almost dispassionate howl went up, a low keen that slid into eardrums and pierced them. Otto yiped in pain and shook his head.

" _No morsel is worth this."_ That basso voice proclaimed, full of the promise of lassitude and indolence. " _I depart back to the Fade. Take the field, Little Spirit. Although I doubt you will survive much longer to enjoy the victory. I care not either way._ "

"No! No! Demon! We have made compact!" A woman's voice screeched, unrecognizable in its fury.

" _And I am breaking it,_ " the voice said with the audible equivalent of a shrug. _"It has become entirely too troublesome to keep."_

"How _dare_ you—you serve me! I swear if you break your oath, I will hunt you down in the Fade and unmake you myself!"

" _Mageling,"_ there was a yawn. _"I do not suggest you make yourself worth my finding you interesting. I depart._ "

Shrieks of outrage followed, but there was no longer any response from the Sloth demon.

"There you are, bitch! I have been seeking you!"

"Moravius! You ignorant fool! I promised to let you keep your status, as _my_ heir and second, and this is how you repay me?"

"Father was a deluded buffoon, and insane! I don't know how you manipulated him into this, but it doesn't matter. I will kill you now, prove you the weaker, and reclaim my birthright!"

"You will reclaim nothing! Your father knew you were a weak, addlepated fop! He never had any intention of leaving you the House!"

"Lying, knife-ear dog!"

Even through his frenzy to find Odette, Fenris cocked his head at the voices screaming at each other across the field of battle. Then he shook his head, ignoring it, and kept killing.

In the direction Sebastian had designated north, spells filled the air, flying thick and fast.

"Hawke!"

"I see him!"

Varric, Sebastian, and Hawke darted forward, seeing a somewhat sizeable, robed mass lying on the bloody ground. 

"Stay with Fenris," Hawke said, thudding to her knees and pulling Anders over. He spilled limply into her lap. "I can shield us, but you'll be useless. Nothing will get in or out while it's up."

"Hawke—" the two men protested in unison.

"Go!"

Sebastian and Varric took off after the elf and the hound, feeling more than seeing the silvery shield spring up around the two mages, prismatic sparkles reflecting off of it.

And then they were in the clear…behind them a sharply defined line of bodies; flesh, magma, and otherwise, tearing at each other, snarls and yowls still echoing in the huge, dark cavern. Around them was nothing. Fenris and Otto were a few yards before them, staring up at a massive raised dais of some sort, created for some purpose long forgotten.

Now it served as a combat zone for two mages engaged in a heated magic duel. Energy, blood, and the elements filled the air between and around them. All any could see was two figures, obscured by colors and mist, light and shadows, twisting and writhing, their staves flashing, a stream of deformed, hideous words streaming from their mouths.

Then the one on the left—stumbled.

A piercing cry of victory and the one on the right pressed the advantage. The one on the left all but vanished in a maelstrom of bloody magical energy.

The magic bombarding the figure on the right slowed…flickered…then stopped altogether.

The figure on the right could now be seen as a woman of slight stature, wearing Tevinter mage robes, cowled, the golden mask of a Magister obscuring her features. She strode forward, crowing her victory, pulling a wavy bladed dagger from her robes as she moved.

She paused over the fallen figure. He lay gasping, glassy-eyed, his robes all but destroyed. Varric and Fenris could see it was the bearded man from the dockhouse.

"Moravius, know that you die. But you will not be wasted. You will go to feed the power of your beloved House," she crooned. "By feeding _my_ power."

The blade flashed. Moravius screamed, then fell silent as the edge swiped cleanly across his throat. He gurgled for a few long moments, then was still.

Fenris shook himself free of the horrific visions in front of him and scrambled up onto the dais. "Odette!"

The woman snapped around, but did not otherwise move, watching Fenris.

On the side of the platform where the woman had been standing, there was a puddle of a familiar robe. Fenris darted over as Sebastian, Varric, and Otto climbed up onto the dais.

"Odette," he cried, gathering the little bundle to him. "Odette!"

"Odette!" the woman cried in a mocking tone. "Odette!"

"Quiet, witch," Sebastian snarled, nocking an arrow and training it on her. Otto was low at his side, dark, liquid eyes watching her intently.

"You would seek to shoot me, archer? With an arrow? How droll."

"Yes, you're a mighty mage of Tevinter," the priest said. "But I swear in the name of the Maker if you have harmed the girl I will bring you to justice."

"Justice seems to be a theme," she sniffed. "I must admit, I may have to keep the mage who did battle with that stupid Sloth demon. I've never seen a spirit abomination before."

"He is not an abomination!"

She waved her hand. "Semantics. He is possessed by a creature of the Fade. Call it whatever you like. He is a rare specimen, and would be of great use to my research."

"You can't have him. Yes, he is possessed, but not by a demon, and the man is still in control," Sebastian said. "And no man is beyond redemption."

While this was going on, Varric was edging around, facing her, so he was between her and Fenris.

"Elf?" he asked.

"She lives," Fenris said brokenly. "Thank the Maker, she lives."

"I'll be sure to tell Sebastian you said that," Varric muttered. "Is she…did she…"

"She is clean, not bleeding. It does not appear that she has used the markings."

"I'm very, very happy about that, but do you think you can pick her up so we can get out of here?"

"Done. Lead on."

"Oh no, none of that," the woman. "You can't leave during the finale of the piece."

A sheet of flame twice the height of a man erupted all around her, Fenris, and Odette, a perfect rectangle of blazing death.

"Fenris!"

"We live!" he called out to Varric. 

"We'll try to get Hawke!"

A quiet rustle. Fenris setting her carefully down on the cold, scorched, and volatized stone. Leaning forward, he kissed her forehead. Then he pulled his hammer back out and stood, turning to the woman.

"Yes, come forward like the weapon you are, Little Wolf," the woman sneered. "You were useless for anything else."

"Who are you?" Fenris demanded, taking his place squarely in front of her, about twenty feet away. 

"You mean you don’t recognize me?" the woman said. "How disappointing. I know you remember me, too. Unlike your little Odette. Or is it Musette, Leto?"

His face went slack as the realization hit him.

The woman reached up, yanking off the mask and down the cowl.

A face much like Fenris' own stared at him, softened by feminine features. Short cropped red hair flared around her face like a bloody halo, and green eyes stared hatred at him. Mad, obsessive hatred.

"Varania…"


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Fenris finally learns all, and sacrifices everything.

  


 

#  Chapter 18

"Not once, but twice you destroyed my life, brother. But as you can see, I am no longer the cowering, fearful wretch you met at that wretched, disgusting little tavern."

"What…happened to you?" Fenris asked slowly, shock making speech difficult.

"You set me on a path of poverty and ruin by granting me 'freedom'," repugnance made the word an epithet. "Then when you could have atoned for your sins against me by returning to Tevinter, you instead killed Magister Danarius, who had sworn to apprentice me, once again leaving me with less than nothing!"

"I remember that…apprentice. But how could you be an apprentice?" he demanded. "You have to be able to…" 

"Use magic. That's right, brother. I have the gift." She straightened, looking down her hatchet nose at him. "So did father. So did mother. They knew how to hide it and taught me to. Everyone in our family had some talent for it."

"I have no magic."

" _Everyone_ in our family had some talent for it," she repeated with a malicious gleam.

"What…what are you saying?"

"You are a fool. Lyrium without the gift is useless! It would make you immune to the effects Danarius inscribed into you, not a conduit for them, unless you had enough of the gift to distill it! It was one of the reasons you were chosen, why you were allowed to win the Tourney!" Her laughter ran, hot and malignant, in little circles around him. "You are a mage, brother! Only your gift has been tied to your markings, rendering you impotent in spellcasting. You can reignite that spark, though. With what remains of your talent, blood magic is still an option for you."

"No!" he howled.

"Yes!" she snapped back, glee reflected in the fires dancing and jerking around them. "I know you feel it, around your friends," she nodded in the general direction of Hawke and Anders. "I know all about your little elven blood mage friend, too. You hate her the most, don't you? I'm sure it makes you quite mad around them. Irrational. Unreasonable. Because you know that she has embraced what you fear. Power. Raw power. The power that would have prevented me taking your precious Musette from you if you hadn't been such a sniveling coward and had embraced it instead!"

"No…no…"

"Oh, _yes_ , brother. After you killed Danarius, I fled back to Tevinter, burning with vengeance. I appealed to Danarius' friend, Corvinus, telling him I knew some of Danarius' secrets, and more. Where you were and how to get you. Corvinus gladly took up Danarius' debt and apprenticed me himself. Who could have known that I would become a blood mage adept so quickly? Of course, the Fade is a harsh teacher. I had to learn quickly."

"You…you're the one that told Corvinus to use Odette against me. You're the one who got him to inflict that…" he spat. " _Opus sanguinus_."

"I held the blade that scored her flesh myself, brother dear. I did well, the markings are beautiful."

His fists closed to white-knuckled grips around the haft of his hammer, a wordless, inarticulate snarl erupting from his throat.

"It was a simple matter to subvert her will enough to allow us to do as we would. The participant for the _opus_ must be willing, like you were. She trusted me, after all. I was her dear friend. Corvinus and I kept that I was his apprentice from her. She thought I had merely returned after failing to open my tailor shop the year before. She had been so kind, lending me the funds as she did."

He charged forward, but she raised a hand and a wall, silver and dazzled with rainbowed light, much like the shield that Hawke had put up, sprang up between them.

"You might wish to rethink that, Little Wolf."

"I will kill you, Varania. I should have killed you when I saw you last, but out of some misguided sense of mercy I let you live. Because you were my sister. Because I had failed you. Despite your betrayal."

The shield turned translucent, enough so he could see her vicious expression.

"But if you kill me, Leto," she said mockingly, "Who will cure your precious Musette? Who will purify her of the corrupted lyrium staining her skin, and heal the vicious wounds of her affliction?"

"You can do that?"

Her smile was broad. "I can."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Why should I lie?"

"Because apparently, that is what you do now."

"Bring her, set her before me," she commanded imperiously. "And I will show you."

"If you attempt anything…"

"My price to restore her is not high, but it is something I do so long for. Get her."

Wondering why he obeyed, he did, gathering up Odette and setting her in front of Varania.

"Remove the robes."

With trembling hands, he did so.

Odette lay nude on the blackened stone, the flickering light of the flames making the markings glisten blackly, her pale skin ruddy.

Varania began muttering, raising her hands. She gestured at the corpse of Moravius lying behind her and blood streamed up in a thin tendril, surrounding her hands like wire.

The silvery shield dropped, and the blood shot out from her hands and splashed over Odette. It covered her jaw, collecting in the raw channels in her flesh that went from her chin to her earlobe.

It sank in. Was absorbed.

Only smooth, unblemished skin was left behind. No trace of blood, no scar, no indication that there had ever been a half inch deep gouge scoring her skin.

Fenris gazed at her a moment longer.

"What do you want, Varania?"

"Only your life, brother dear. And to have her watch as I kill you."

He stared down at Odette, who stirred.

Crouching, he ran a finger wondrously, delicately, over her chin and jaw. She twitched. 

He hushed her. "It's all right, Musette," he whispered to her. "It's fine. You will be well, and whole. Varric and Hawke will care for you. You could never be mine, anyway. You're not the broken one. I am."

Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

"Hold on, Fenris! I can get this down!"

"How is Anders?" he called back in response to Hawke's voice, coming from the other side of the flames.

"Fine! He'll be fine! Otto is with him with my shield! Now let me concentrate!"

"Don't!"

"What?"

"Take care of Odette!" He saw but ignored his sister's fierce, triumphant grin.

"What are you talking about, elf," Varric demanded. " _You're_ going to take care of her!"

"Don't do anything stupid!" Hawke warned. "I just need a minute!"

"So that's your answer?" Varania gloated.

He inclined his head, once.

Odette's eyes opened, blinking in befuddlement. 

The wall of flame went down with a rush of air filling the void.

His companions leaped forward.

And Varania solidified a spear of blood, and pierced Fenris' throat with a single, sharp upward thrust.

It punctured through flesh and bone to emerge, jutting and dripping, from the base of his skull.

His eyes rolled up in his head and he went limp. And then he died.

She didn't have the strength to keep him raised and the tip of the spear dropped, he falling to the stone in a tumbled heap, still impaled. She took hold of the shaft with both hands, leaning all her weight on it, working it back and forth, side to side, lips stretching into a grimace of grotesque pleasure, eyes impossibly wide.

The companions gave a howl and surged forward, in between Fenris' body and Odette, who had waveringly sat up, her eyes locked on Fenris. Her face was still bewildered.

Varania was laughing hysterically, jerking out the spear and brandishing it over her head. "At last! I have done it! I have had my justice against him!"

"Who are you to speak of justice?" Sebastian demanded as Hawke hurried forward and fell to her knees, sliding the last few feet. "This was not justice."

"No? He stole my life not once, but twice! Condemned me to poverty and worse!"

"He spared you!" Hawke shouted unevenly. "I…convinced him to spare you…"

"And I am grateful to you for that, Hawke. To show my gratitude, I will allow you to live. All of you. Leave Odette and my brother's body and you may leave."

"I will _never_ —"

"You killed him."

The soft voice cut through the rage like a clean breeze through a stench. Sebastian felt a small hand on his elbow and he stepped aside, averting his eyes as Odette stepped forward, still nude.

She stood quietly for a moment, then looked up at Varania.

"You killed him." She repeated.

"And you helped me do it, sweet Musette," Varania said. 

"I saw you. You created a spear," her hand extended in front of her. "And then you killed him." Her hand jabbed up. "Your brother. Who loved you."

"He did not love me. He loved his own twisted sense of responsibility. His own prideful beliefs of right and wrong. If he had loved me he would have known I never truly wanted freedom. His own hubris killed him."

"You killed him. You killed Leto. He sacrificed so much." Her voice was so hushed, so even, it should have been swallowed by the vast emptiness of the cavern around them, but all heard it. "We sacrificed so much. You robbed us. Of all we could have had. Should have had."

"Good," Varania lashed out. "I am glad. I wanted to rob you of everything. Your happiness, your love, your future. I wanted to destroy him as he had destroyed me. You? You were just a pawn, but ever so useful. Without you I never would have been able to destroy him so thoroughly! So noble, throwing away his life to save you! Now come, and I will use the blood of your beloved to remove your _opus sanguinus._ You were never worthy of it anyway."

Odette's eyes flared brilliant ruby, the markings filled with vermillion light. Blood erupted in every direction from her before rising in a hissing, liquid cloud roiling behind her head.

"No, Odette!" Hawke cried. "Don't do this!"

"Varric and Sebastian reached forward, Varric grabbing Hawke by the back of her mantle, Sebastian grabbing Fenris' arm, hauling them out from in between the maleficarum and Odette.

"You killed him," Odette said again, and sent the blood arrowing towards Varania as she took slow steps towards her.

"Imbecile!" Varania shrieked, slashing through the blood and with a wave of her hand. It disintegrated, losing cohesion, returning to fine mist which flowed back to Odette. "I helped create you. I am a blood mage adept! You cannot hope to kill me!"

"Yes, I can, Varania. I am going to incapacitate you. Then I am going to reach in through your chest and pull out your heart."

"And she's not alone!" Sebastian shouted, loosing an arrow. 

Varania gestured, and two more silvery shields sprang up. One around Hawke and her companions, one around Odette. Then she began shouting in that slithering tongue, and two wraiths erupted from the ground inside the shield surrounding Odette.

Blood swarmed around them before they even had the chance to shamble a single step and stripped them to nothing in seconds. Then it coalesced over Odette again, bigger this time. The rivulets of blood streaming off of her became thick torrents. It shattered the shield surrounding her with the sound of breaking crystal.

"I am going to pull your living heart from your chest, Varania. And then I am going to crush it in my hands."

Varania smiled a slow, cruel smile, then quickly summoned up more wraiths. They were dealt with the same way the first two were. More and more she pulled up through stone, and the blood around Odette aggregated into an even larger mass.

"Odette! You must stop! This is going to kill you!" Hawke shouted.

"I think that's the idea, Hawke," Varric said sadly.

"No!" Hawke cried, reaching into her back and pulling out her last lyrium potion. She chugged it down, then set about trying to break down the shield.

"You will die before you get anywhere close enough to kill me, you pathetic sex doll," Varania panted, face lined with strain. 

"No."

More wraiths. More whirlwinds of death. More blood.

Odette staggered, skin glowing ghastly pale.

"Now you fall!" Varania yelled. "Now you fall and die along with my pathetic brother! Die in your righteous stupidity!"

Odette paused.

Slowly her head turned, looking over the battlefield, which with the death of Moravius, had fallen still. His living soldiers had surrendered, his summoned creatures had vanished, his abominations had fought until they had been ripped apart. All that remained were the twisted mortal remains and Varania's mortal and abomination troops. And their blood.

It rose up from the corpses, a great cloud, and surged towards Odette. It enveloped her, then parted, her markings like the heart of a living flame.

"Not yet." 

Varania was hard put on the defensive now. She threw up shield after shield, summoned demons, wraiths, all were cut down, devoured by the red maelstrom. 

She called her abominations to her, her mortal soldiers. 

"I had hoped to spare them, at least," Odette murmured. Then the cloud thinned to the thickness of a razor and slashed their throats in a collective slice. Blood sprayed, and was collected, used.

"This is not possible…" Varania gasped, staggering backward. "You cannot use dead blood…you cannot!"

"I am more than intended, as so too was Leto."

Varania stumbled over Moravius' corpse, falling backwards. She threw her arms over her head and cowered.

"Please! Don't kill me!"

The blood paused. Glowing red eyes considered her. Her head cocked to one side.

"Why?"

"I am his sister. The last of our line. If you kill me you kill the blood of Leto's family as well."

"I think both he and I have had enough of blood."

And she sent it pouring over Varania. 

All of it.

Her screams suddenly became a gurgling caterwaul, as the blood flooded into her mouth, her nose, her ears, even the ducts of her eyes. Faster and faster it swirled, cocooning her, finally oozing in through her very pores. 

She…inflated. Her skin ballooned, stretching to seemingly impossible limits. Her eyes, the sclera dissolved in red, stared wildly.

"Maker…She's still alive…" Varric said in sickened wonder.

"Don't look, Hawke," Sebastian said quietly, putting his hand on her shoulder.

But she couldn’t tear her eyes away. At her feet, Fenris stirred.

"The potion, it worked," Varric said.

"I didn't know if it would," Hawke said, it was nearly a sob. "The amount of time, the type of wound…it was taking so long…"

"Musette…" he murmured.

"Oh, Fenris…" she said brokenly, and now she did weep.

He bolted upright, staring around wildly.

Just in time to see Odette, radiating crimson, drenched in blood, thrust her hand into his sister's bloated chest and rip out her heart. 

To hear the sound of tearing, as flesh split from the impossible pressure behind it.

Clenching her fists, Odette crushed the heart in her two hands.

Varania exploded in a mass of blood, organs, tissue, and bone.

Odette collapsed. 

The shield around Hawke flickered and died.

"NO!" Fenris screamed, scrabbling across the slick, sticky stone, slipping his way to where she had fallen. 

"Leto…"

"Musette, what have you done?" he demanded, snatching her into his arms.

"You live…" she whispered.

"No…No…Hawke!"

Hawke had been right behind him, and she grabbed Odette's hand in between her own. Golden-green light surged. 

"I…I can't heal this…There's nothing left inside her _to_ heal…"

"Get Anders," he snarled. "If you can't, maybe he can."

"He's still not conscious…"

"No, he's awake."

Ander's weak voice reached them. A harried glance showed him tottering towards the dais, bent, one hand gripping Otto's collar. Sebastian and Varric immediately scrambled down to help him.

Hawke handed him a healing potion and he choked it down.

"Lyrium?"

"I'm out."

His hand reached out and gently stroked hair matted and soaking with blood. Then he closed his eyes, setting his jaw. Strong golden light streamed out, flickering over her. 

Weakly, she covered Ander's fingers with her own, and pushed his hand away.

"Odette…what are you doing?" Anders asked. 

"Do not. You will kill yourself in the attempt."

"You don’t know that."

"I do. I knew the point beyond which there was no recovering. Your magic cannot help me, and only hurt you."

"But…I live!" Fenris cried. "Anders, do it. Now!"

"She…she's right," he said, the golden glow fading. "I can't heal this. It's like Hawke said, there's just…nothing inside anymore. It…liquefied."

"Powerful spirit healer," Fenris spat. "Where is all your vaunted talent now?"

"Magic cannot fix everything," Hawke said gently.

"Magic cannot fix _anything_. It can only cause pain and destruction."

"Fenris, hush now," Odette whispered.

"You can't go. Not now. You can't."

"You must live for both of us now."

"Don't do this. Please don't do this. Don't leave me. You promised to show me how to be content. You _promised_."

"I am sorry, but I must break that promise."

"You can't! You can't—you can't—leave me alone again…"

"But you must promise me. Promise me to live. Promise me to find that contentment."

"How can I? You don't know what you're asking, it's impossible."

"It was impossible to find you again. For you to remember. For us to be free. For you to love me and for me to love you. Make the impossible happen again. Please."

"I…promise."

"I have no regrets, not now."

"How can you say that?" he demanded. "I will have one for every day you will not be with me!"

"Because, my beloved Leto, my sweet Fenris," she sighed, sinking against him, pressing her bloody face to his chest. "You called me Musette."

 

  


 


	19. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the companions go their separate ways, until the tensions of Kirkwall explode around them, drawing them into conflict, treachery, and heartache once more.

#  Epilogue

He froze for a long moment, disbelief, denial in every taut line of his body.

Then he threw back his head and roared. It was a primal sound, full of wrenching loss and pain.

Hawke reached out for him, but Anders stopped her.

"No. Not yet."

"But—"

"Let's give him some space."

She looked uncertain, but allowed Anders to help her to her feet and lead her back to the others, some distance away.

He could not feel the concerned and sorrowful eyes of his friends as they watched him. Could not hear Otto's mournful howl or Hawke's sobs. Could not feel anything but a vast, terrible emptiness inside him.

He stayed that way for some time.

 

No one spoke as they made their way back to Hightown, Fenris departing on his own, bearing Odette's still form away. They let him. Sebastian offered to help with any funeral rites.

Fenris had stiffened, and declined, telling them he was going to bury her outside of the traditional Dalish grounds, at the foot of Sundermount.

Then he told them to never speak of her again.

Anders, leaning heavily on Hawke with assistance steering from Otto leaning into his legs, returned to the Champion's mansion.

Sebastian retired to the Chantry, and tried to take comfort in prayer.

For those who had been there, it was a reminder of the time after Hawke's mother had been murdered by an obsessed maleficarum. Too much grief, too much sorrow. They could not collect in the same place, could not be together. They had to separate, deal with it on their own, before being able to come back together.

Varric went to the Hanged Man, took a bath. Dressed in his most comfortable clothes. Sat down at his massive table. Then he pulled out a parchment and pen and summoned a messenger boy. Writing out a brief missive, he sent it to Aveline, telling her of the pile of corpses beneath the city. It wouldn't do to let them rot. Kirkwall had enough issues without a plague adding to them. 

He didn't envy the cremation teams that would have to deal with it.

Pausing a moment, he added a mug and a bottle of his top notch whisky to the collection on his desk.

Then he dipped the quill into the ink and began to write, the scratching seeming hushed.

_"The sun shone brightly overhead in Lowtown, the first nice day after two weeks of miserable rains swept in off the sea…"_


End file.
